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STORIES 

OF PATRIOTISM 


A PATRIOTIC READER FOR THE 
INTERMEDIATE GRADES 


BY 


NORMA HELEN DEMING 

Principal of the Logan School^ Minneapolis^ Minnesota 


AND 

KATHARINE ISABEL BEMIS 

Teacher of English^ Franklin Junior High School 
Minneapolis^ Minnesota 


y 



HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 

CarntriDge 




sentence of the Preamble of the Declaration of Independence 
which declares that all men are born free and equal with cer¬ 
tain inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty, and the 
pursuit of happiness. We must make these rights mean, not 
merely the physical life which men have in common with the 
beasts of the field, but rather the full human life, enriched 
by the cultivated imagination, inspired by noble purpose, 
guided by trained reason, and refined by high ideals. 


Philander T. Claxton 
United States Commissioner of Education 


COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY NORMA H. DBMING AND KATHARINE I. BEMIS 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


OCT -1 1918 



IBLiberSibe $reM 

Ci 





A WORD 


Patriotism is a virtue much seen and much heard of in 
these great days. Our President pleads; State Legislatures 
pass laws; and schools adopt courses in patriotism. Yet we 
should not think that the Nation has ever been anything but 
patriotic. The voluntary enlistment for this war of millions 
of men and women to serve as best each can has been so 
spontaneous that never again will any one question the loy¬ 
alty of the American people. Love of country springs up in 
the hearts of men living under the sweet influence of justice 
and freedom as flowers bloom at the call of warm sunshine. 
It is the natural way of living. 

Unseen and unheard, subtle influences have shaped the 
thought and kindled the emotions of youth. As they have 
learned of the greatness of our country, — its wonderful 
production, its unrivaled manufacture, its quick advance to 
a position of influence among the nations, — an honest pride 
has made each stand taller. They have followed those h'ttle 
bands of pioneers, as they sifted through the Alleghanies, 
spread over the great central plain, climbed the Rockies to 
look down at last upon the great Pacific. They have heard 
great names — Franklin, Washington, Lafayette, Lincoln, 
and Lee. And now in this Great War they are hearing of the 
heroes and songs of our Allies. They have whistled Yankee 
Doodle; they have marched to The Battle Hymn of the Re¬ 
public or Dixie; they have sung together The Star-Spangled 
Banner, God Save the King, and La Marseillaise. For this 
land where our fathers and mothers lie buried, where our 
brothers and sisters live and labor, has grown up a mighty 


iv 


A WORD 


love. The heroic efforts of those at the front and the duties 
of those who stay at home emphasize the fact that love of 
country is more alive to-day than ever it was. The songs 
which we sing, the pieces we speak, the names which we 
name, their influence reaches into the heart of youth, and 
of all of them it makes Americans. 

It was a happy undertaking to bring together in this little 
book so many of our national stories; and children in thou¬ 
sands of American schools will count those days golden when 
they opened The Stories of Patriotism. 

W. F. Webster 

Assistant Superintendent of Schools^ Minneapolis 


CONTENTS 


STORIES ABOUT THE COLONISTS 

The First Encounter with the Indians Jane G, Austin i 

The First Thanksgiving Day Bradford's Plymouth Plantation lo 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 


Benjamin Franklin as a Boy 

From Franklin^s Autobiography 

19 

George Washington, the Young Soldier Eva March Tappan 

23 

A Race for Liberty 

George D. Varney 

28 

Yankee Doodle 


32 

The Battle of Bunker Hill 

Marie Louise Eerdman 

35 

Rodney’s Ride 

Elbridge S. Brooks 

40 

Signing the Declaration 

George Lippard 

42 

The Independence Bell 

Anonymous 

44 

The Martyr Patriot 

Edward S. Ellis 

46 

The Truth Speaker i 

Sarah Crompton 

53 

A Winter at Valley Forge 

Eva March Tappan 

57 

Molly Pitcher 

Laura E. Richards 

61 

Lafayette 

Gertrude V. Southworth 

62 

Verses on Lafayette 

Dolly Madison 

65 

The Story of our Flag 

Alfred P. Putnam 

65 

Betsy’s Battle Flag 

Minna Irving 

67 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 

Daniel Boone, the Kentucky Pioneer Norma H. Deming 6g 

Hail, Columbia Joseph Hopkinson 71 

Lewis and Clark, the Pathfinders Eva March Tappan 72 

The Man without a Country 

Edward Everett Hale. Dramatized by Augusta Stevenson 75 
Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean Thomas d Becket 92 


VI 


CONTENTS 


Lincoln, the Young Man Rupert Sargent Holland 94 

The Soldier’s Reprieve Mrs. R. D. C. Robbins 104 

The Battle Hymn of the Republic Julia Ward Howe 109 

The Noblest Southerner, Robert E. Lee 

J. G. de R. and M. T. Hamilton no 
Dixie Daniel Decatur Emmet 115 

The Little Drummer Richard Henry Stoddard 117 


Little Giffen 

Little Athens’ Message 

Commodore Dewey, the Hero of Manila 

The Star-Spangled Banner 

America 


Francis 0 . Ticknor 121 
Anna Doan Stephens 122 
Katharine I. Bemis 125 
Francis Scott Key 128 
Samuel F. Smith 132 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


La Marseillaise 

Rouget de Lisle 134 

Joan of Arc 

John Richard Green 135 

God Save the King 

Herbert Carey 142 

Horatio Nelson 

Robert Southey 143 

Florence Nightingale 

Alice S. Hof man 145 

Garibaldi’s War Hymn 

Mercantini 156 


STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 

The Story of Edith Cavell S. McClure 158 

Merciful Dogs of War Ellwood Hendrick 160 

His Greater Task Fraser Nairn 167 

The American Spirit Sophie Kerr 170 

*‘A Little Child Shall Lead Them” John K. Barnes 173 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


The editors of this book make grateful acknowledgment to 
the following publishers and authors for permission to use 
copyrighted selections: — 

E. P. Dutton & Company, New York, for “Florence Night¬ 
ingale,” by Alice Hoffman. 

A. Flanagan Company, Chicago, for “The Martyr Pa¬ 
triot,” by Edward S. Ellis. 

Harper & Brothers, for “A Race for Liberty,” by George 
D. Varney. 

George W. Jacobs & Company, Philadelphia, for “Lincoln, 
the Young Man,” by R. S. Holland. 

Leslie's Weekly, New York, for “Betsy’s Battle Flag,” by 
Minna Irving. 

Peace Association of Friends in America, for “Little 
Athens’ Message,” by Anna Doan Stephens. 

G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York and London, for “Rod¬ 
ney’s Ride,” by Elbridge S. Brooks. 

The Red Cross Magazine, New York, for “Merciful Dogs 
of War,” by Ellwood Hendrick; “His Greater Task,” by 
Fraser Nairn; “The American Spirit,” by Sophie Kerr; and 
“A Little Child Shall Lead Them,” by John K. Barnes. 

Laura E. Richards, for Molly Pitcher.” 

Scott, Foresman & Company, Chicago, for “The First 
Thanksgiving Day” and “The Story of Our Flag,” by Alfred 
P. Putnam. 

Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, for “The Little Drum¬ 
mer,” by R, H. Stoddard. 


viii 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


Frederick A. Stokes Company, New York, for *^The Battle 
of Bunker Hill,’’ by Marie Louise Herdman. 

Houghton Miffin Company, Boston, for ‘‘The First En¬ 
counter with the Indians,” from Standish of Standish^ by 
Jane G. Austin; “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” by 
Julia Ward Howe; “The Story of Edith Cavell,” from Ob¬ 
stacles to Peace^ by S. S. McClure; “The Man without a 
Country,” by Edward Everett Hale, from Stevenson’s Chil¬ 
dren's Classics in Dramatic Form^ Book v; George Wash¬ 
ington, the Young Soldier,” “A Winter at Valley Forge,” 
and “Lewis and Clark, the Pathfinders,” from American 
Hero Stories^ by Eva March Tappan; “Little Giffen,” by 
Francis O. Ticknor, from Southern Poems; and “ The Noblest 
Southerner, Robert E. Lee,” by J. G. de R. and M. T. 
Hamilton. 

Also the following standard versions from Stevenson’s 
Poems of American History: — 

“America,” “Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean,” “Dixie,” 
“Hail, Columbia,” “The Star-Spangled Banner,” “Verses 
on Lafayette,” by Dolly Madison, and “Yankee Doodle.” 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


STORIES ABOUT THE COLONISTS 

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH THE INDIANS 

So thoroughly were the bolder spirits among the Pilgrims 
impressed with the necessity of haste in finding an abiding- 
place that by afternoon of the next day the pinnace was vic¬ 
tualed and fitted for a voyage of ten days or more, and the 
adventurers ready to embark. To the twelve men previously 
named, all of whom were signers of the Constitution already 
drawn up to quell symptoms of insubordination on the part 
of Hopkins and others, were added Clarke and Coppin, acting 
as the master gunner, who, uninvited, thrust himself into the 
company in hopes of making something by traffic, or, as he 
phrased it, trucking with the Indians. 

But hasten as they might, many things delayed them, some 
of them as important as the death of Jasper More, an orphan 
in charge of the Carvers, and the birth of a son to Mistress 
White, whom his fathej and Dr. Fuller whimsically named 
Peregrine, latest of the Pilgrims, and first of native-born 
American white men. When at last the shallop left the May¬ 
flower’s side it was in the teeth of such bad weather as left 
the former expedition far in the shade, for not only was the 
northeast wind more bitter, but the temperature so low that 
the spray froze upon the rigging and the men’s jerkins, turn¬ 
ing them into coats of mail almost impossible to bend. 

It was soon found impossible for Master English to lay his 


2 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


proposed course, and finally the Pilgrims resolved to land and 
encamp for the night, partly for the sake of the greedy gun¬ 
ner, who had turned so deadly sick that it was feared he 
would die, and for Edward Tilley, who lay in the bottom of 
the boat in a dead swoon, while his brother John crouched 
beside covered with John Howland’s coat, which he declared 
was but an impediment to him in rowing. 

‘‘They should never have come. Had I guessed their un¬ 
fitness I would have hindered it, but now, alack, it is too late, 
and I fear they have come to their death,” said Carver in 
Bradford’s ear, and indeed it was so. The brothers, never 
divided in body or soul since their birth, had as one man 
given their substance, their strength, their faith, to the com¬ 
mon cause, and now were giving their lives as simply and as 
willingly as heroes ever will go to their death, so giving life 
to many. 

The second night found them only as far as what we now 
call Eastham, and again building a “rendezvous” and gather¬ 
ing firewood, a difficult task at any time in this vicinity, for 
the trees were lofty and the underbrush annually burned 
away by the Indians to facilitate hunting. But it was finally 
done, as all things will be when such men set about them, the 
fire was built, the supper eaten, the prayer said, and the 
psalm sung, its rude melody rising from that wilderness to 
the wintry sky with the assurance of Daniel’s song in the 
den of lions. Then all slept except Edward Dotey, to whom 
was committed the first watch, to last while three inches of 
the slow-match attached to his piece were consuming. 

Striding up and down his appointed beat the young man 
hummed again the evening psalm, mildly anathematized the 
cold, peered into the blackness of the forest, and glanced 
enviously at his comrades sound asleep about the fire. 

“’T is all but burned,” muttered he, stooping to examine 


STORIES ABOUT THE COLONISTS 


3 


the match, and thrusting a fallen log back onto the fire with 
his boot. But in that very instant upon the intense stillness 
of the night burst suddenly a discordant clamor, a confusion 
of horrible and unknown sounds, unlike, in simple Edward 
Dotey’s mind, to anything possible this side of hell. Un¬ 
daunted even thus, he answered the assault with a yell of 
quivering defiance, fired his matchlock into the air, and 
shouted at the top of his voice: — 

^‘Arm! arm! arm! The fiend is upon us!^’ 

All sprang to their feet alert and ready, and two or three 
pieces were shot off, but no foe appeared, and no reply was 
made to their shouts of defiance. 

Dotey, questioned by Standish, was fain to confess he had 
seen nothing, and Coppin averred that he had more than once 
heard similar sounds upon the coast of Newfoundland, and 
that they were commonly thought to be the voices of sirens 
or mermaids who haunted lonely shores. 

*‘If naught more imminent than mermaids is upon us. I’ll 
e’en go back to sleep,” said Winslow in good-natured derision, 
while Standish, lighting his slow-match, said pleasantly to 
Dotey: — 

‘Tay thee down, man, and sleep. If thy fiend comes again 
I’ll give account of him.” 

A few grim jests, a little laughter, and the camp was again 
quiet, until Standish, sure that no enemy could be at hand, 
resigned his watch to Howland, and he to English, until at 
five o’clock William Bradford aroused his comrades, remind¬ 
ing them that on account of the tide they must embark within 
the hour, and had still to breakfast. 

A wintry fog, piercing in its chill, had closed down upon 
the camp, covering everything with a half-frozen rime, drop¬ 
ping sullenly like rain from such things as came near the fire, 
and stiffening into ice in the shade. 


4 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


‘‘I fear me our pieces will hang fire after this soaking,” 
remarked Carver, examining his matchlock. 

^‘It were well to try them before there is need,” said Wins¬ 
low, firing his into the thicket behind the camp. His ex¬ 
ample was followed by several, until Standish good-humor¬ 
edly cried: — 

“Enough, enough, friends! Save powder and shot for the 
enemy if there be one. Such grapes grow not on these vines.” 

“Well, since the pieces are ready, and the twilight breaks, 
it were well for some of us to carry them and the other armor 
down to the boat, while the rest set out the breakfast,” sug¬ 
gested Hopkins, always anxious to be stirring. 

“Nay, ’tis but poor soldiership to part from our arms 
even for so brief a space,” said Winslow. “There be other 
matters, cloaks and haversacks, and such like, that can 
be carried, but the arms and armor should abide with them 
who wear them.” 

“Master Winslow may do as seemeth good in his own eyes, 
but my armor goeth now,” retorted Hopkins in a belligerent 
tone. And loading himself with his breastplate, steel cap, 
matchlock, and bullet pouch, he strode obstinately away to 
the boat, lying some three or four hundred yards distant, 
waiting for the tide to float her. 

Standish watched him disapprovingly, and, turning to 
Carver, he inquired significantly: — 

“What saith our Governor?” 

“Let each man do as seemeth good to himself,” replied 
Carver placably. “’T is of no great import.” 

“My snaphance goes nowhere out of reach of my right 
hand,” announced Standish somewhat sharply, for the want 
of discipline grieved him, and Bradford, Winslow, and How¬ 
land silently endorsed both his action and his feehng. The 
courteous Carver said nothing, and did nothing, but a sailor, 


STORIES ABOUT THE COLONISTS 


5 

seeing the Governor’s armor lying together, carried it down 
to the boat, thinking to do him a service. 

Reaching the shore, Hopkins found the boat surrounded 
by a few inches of water, and, not caring to wade out to her, 
laid his load upon the shore, to wait until she fairly floated, 
— an example followed by the rest, some of whom strolled 
back to the camp, while others stood talking to those who 
had slept on board, until a summons to breakfast quickened 
their motions; but just as the laggards entered the rendezvous 
the same horrible noise that had so startled Edward Dotey 
burst forth again, while one of the sailors yet lingering by the 
shore came rushing up, shouting like a madman: — 

“Savages! Indians! They are men!” And, as if to prove 
his words, a shower of arrows came rattling into the rendez¬ 
vous, one of them transfixing the lump of boiled beef laid 
ready for breakfast. 

“Why did n’t you bring up your pieces again, ye fools!” 
cried Standish angrily. “Run, now, and recover them before 
the enemy seizes them, while we men of wit cover your 
course.” 

Not waiting to dispute the style of this command, the un¬ 
armed men hastened to obey it, while Standish, taking posi¬ 
tion at the open entrance of the barricade, fired his snaphance 
in the direction where the sailor pointed; Bradford followed 
suit; but as Winslow and Howland stepped forward, Standish 
held up his hand, — 

“Hold your fire, men, until we see the foe, and, Bradford, 
load again with all speed! We must hold the rendezvous 
at all odds, for here is half our stuff, and our lives depend 
upon not losing it. Hasten, ye laggards! Run, Tilley! Run, 
men!” 

“He is spent!” cried John Howland, throwing down his 
piece and dashing out into the open, where he seized John 


6 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Tilley round the waist and half carried, half dragged him 
into the enclosure. 

‘‘They will seize the shallop!’’ cried Carver, and springing 
on the barricade, heedless of his own exposure, he shouted to 
those in the boat, — 

“Ho, Warren! English! Coppin! Are you safe and on your 
watch?” 

“Aye, well! All is well!” cried the rough voices of the sea¬ 
men; and Warren’s manly tones added, “Be of good courage, 
brethren!” 

“And quit yourselves like men,” muttered Standish; his 
snaphance at his shoulder, his eager eyes scanning the covert. 

Three shots from the pinnace rang bravely through the 
wood, and then came a hail, — 

“Ho, comrades, bring us a light! We have no fire to set off 
our pieces!” 

“Their matches are not alight!” exclaimed Howland; and 
snatching a brand from the camp-fire he again dashed out, 
down the wooded slope and splashing mid-leg deep through 
the freezing brine, he gave the brand into Warren’s hand, 
then rushed back as he came, the arrows whistling around 
his head and two sticking in his heavy frieze jerkin. 

“Welldone, John! Well done!” cried Carver, clapping the 
young man on the shoulder as, breathless and glowing, he 
stooped to pick up his matchlock. “The sight of such valor 
will daunten the Indians more than a whole flight of bullets.” 

And in fact there was for a moment a lull in the enemy’s 
movements, but rather of rage than dismay, for the savage 
outcry burst forth the next moment with more ferocity than 
ever, and as it died away a single voice shouted in a tone of 
command some words, to which the rest responded by such 
a yell as later on curdled the blood of the hapless settlers at 
Deerfield and other places. 


STORIES ABOUT THE COLONISTS 


7 


“Aha! There is a leader there!” growled Standish, his eyes 
glittering and his strong teeth clenched. “Let him show him¬ 
self!” 

As if in answer to the wish a stalwart figure leaped from 
behind a large tree to the shelter of a smaller one, about half 
a gunshot from the camp. 

“That^s your man, Captain!” exclaimed Howland, who 
stood next him. 

“Aye, leave him to me!” growled Standish. “Ha!” for an 
arrow well and strongly aimed hit squarely above his heart, 
and rebounded from the coat of mail Rose had insisted upon 
his putting on. 

“For thee, wife!” murmured the captain, and fired. 

Bark and splinters flew from the tree where the crown of 
the warrior’s head had showed for an instant, but a shriek of 
derisive laughter told that no further harm was done. Stand¬ 
ish, with a grim smile, reloaded his snaphance, while two more 
arrows vigorously flew, one piercing the right sleeve of his 
doublet, the other aimed at his face, which he avoided by 
moving his head. Then for one instant a dusky arm was seen 
reaching over the shoulder for another arrow, and in that 
instant the snaphance rang cheerily out, the arm fell with a 
convulsive movement, and a piercing cry rang through the 
wood, followed by the pattering of many moccasined feet, 
as dusky shadows slipped from tree to tree, and were lost in 
the dim recesses of the forest. 

“They are routed! They fly!” cried Howland, firing his 
piece into a rustling thicket. 

“Yes, that last cry was the retreat,” said Standish, half 
regretfully, plucking the arrow from his sleeve. “The chief 
finds his courage cooled by a broken elbow. I doubt me if ever 
he speed arrow again.” 

“Body o’ me!” continued he, examining the shaft in hi§ 


8 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


hand. ^^See you, John, ’t is pointed with naught but a bird’s 
talon, curiously bound on with its own sinews. To be 
scratched to death by a fowl were but a poor ending for a 
man that has fought Alva!” 

“Pursue them. Captain, pursue and terrify, but kill not, 
if you can help it,” ordered Carver eagerly. “Let the heathen 
know that they are but men, and that the Lord of Hosts is on 
our side.” 

“Forward, then, men! At the double-quick! Run!” And, 
waving his sword, Standish rushed after the flying savages, 
followed by all but Carver, English, and the sailors who 
stayed to guard the rendezvous and the pinnace. 

But even as he ran Myles muttered, perhaps to the sword 
Gideon: — 

“Beshrew me if I see how I am to hurl yon text in the 
heathen’s teeth, sith we have no common tongue, and they 
will not stop for parley! A good man, and a gentle, but no 
soldier, is our Governor!” 

As might have been expected, the Pilgrims, in their heavy 
clothing and armor, proved no match for the Indians in a 
foot-race, and after pursuing them for about a quarter of a 
mile Standish called a halt, and ordered his men to raise a 
shout of mingled triumph and defiance, followed by a volley 
of three, each three reloading as the next fired. 

The victory thus asserted, and the foe offering no response, 
the little army retired in good order upon the rendezvous, 
where they tarried only long enough to pick up the rest of 
their possessions and make a sheaf of arrows, pointed not 
only with eagle’s claws, but with the tips of deer’s horns and 
bits of brass and iron gathered from the various European 
vessels touching for provisions of traffic at these shores. 

It was, indeed, to the treachery of one of these commanders 
that the present attack of the savages was due. Thomas 


STORIES ABOUT THE COLONISTS 


9 


Hunt, visiting these shores in 1614 to procure a cargo of 
dried fish for Spain, recompensed the kindness and hospital¬ 
ity of the savages by cajoling four-and-twenty of them on 
board his ship and carrying them as slaves to Malaga, where 
he sold several, the rest being claimed for purposes of con¬ 
version by the Franciscan friars of those parts. 

One of these captives, named Tisquantum, or Squanto, 
escaped from Hunt, and remained for a while in England, 
where he was kindly treated and learned the language with 
something of the mode of life. He was brought back to Cape 
Cod as an interpreter by an adventurer named Dermer, and 
finally returned to his own people, who were so enraged by 
his story of Hunt’s treachery and cruelty, that they resolved 
by way of revenge to sacrifice the first white men who fell 
into their hands, and had they proved themselves better men 
than the Pilgrims would have inflicted not only death, but 
the most cruel torments upon them. 

The goods and weapons on board. Carver, by a word, 
gathered the men around him upon the sands, and in a few 
fervent and hearty words returned thanks to the God of 
Battles for His aid and protection, invoking at the same time 
protection and counsel for the further dangers of the explora¬ 
tion. Then embarking with all speed the shallop was pushed 
off and flew merrily on before the strong east wind. 

Jane G. Austin 


10 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY' 


Time — November, 1621. 

Scene — A Log House in Plymouth Colony. 


Persons 


Father and Mother 

Betty ) . 

„ ( Their 

Edward > ,, 

T. V children 

Richard ) 

Aunt Ruth 


Priscilla Mullens 
John Alden 
Miles Standish 
Mary ) 

Robert 1 
Squanto 


{An iron pot hangs over an open fire, and in it a porridge of 
Indian meal is steaming. Betty and Edward sit on the 
fireplace seat. The Mother spins, Aunt Ruth knits, and 
Mary sews.) 

Mother. Turn that largest log, Edward. The air grows 
sharp. We must have a bright fire for father’s return. Robert 
and Richard will soon be here, too. 

Betty. Where are they, mother? 

Mother. Father is at the town-meeting. Richard and 
Robert are helping Isaac Allerton to build his house. 

Aunt Ruth {looking up from her knitting). Hard work 
seems to agree with the lads. They are doing well, too. They 
have helped in the building of nearly every house in the vil¬ 
lage. They will be master-builders before we know it. 

Mother. Stir the samp, Betty. Our master-builders will 
be hungry and supper must not be late. 

Mary. You are ever kind and thoughtful. I shall never 
forget your goodness to me since my dear father and mother 
died in the terrible days of the great sickness. 

{She bows her head and weeps gently.) 

^ Copyright, 1912,1913, by Scott, Foresman, and Company, Chicago. Used 
by permission of the publishers. 


STORIES ABOUT THE COLONISTS it 

Mother {cheerfully). Wipe away those tears, Mary, and 
let us think of our many mercies. The best cure for sorrow 
is work, and that you have had in plenty here. You have 
been a great help to us. I am glad that you were sent here 
when the homeless were portioned amongst us. 

Betty. I am glad, too, that you live with us, Mary. You 
teach me so many things. May I get my sampler and work 
on it now, while you sew? Will you show me what stitches 
to take next? 

Mother. All in good time, Betty, but just now you must 
watch the porridge, and stir it when needful. 

Edward {eagerly). I hear steps, mother! 

Mother. It must be your father. Run quickly, Betty, and 
open the door. Stir that log, Edward. 

Betty {looking out of window). It is father, and John 
Alden is with him. 

Enter Father and John Alden 

Father. Come in, John, and sit by our fire for a little 
while. The good wife will be glad to have a chat with you 
ere you go on your way. 

John Alden {nodding to all). Good-day to you. How 
warm and comfortable you are here! 

Mother. Yes, things are much better with Plymouth 
Colony than they were a year ago. 
j Mary. Oh, that terrible winter! I can never forget it. 

Mother. It is better to think of the good we have than 
to grieve over what we cannot change. 

Father. We have much to be thankful for. Less than a 
year ago we were doling out our small store of Indian corn, 
and fearing that soon even that would be gone. 

John Alden. Well do I remember the day when our ration 
was but five kernels each. Now we have food in plenty. 

{He goes to fire and warms hands.) 


12 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Aunt Ruth. How thankful we should be that our lives 
were spared in that dreadful time, and that our harvest has 
been abundant. 

Father. That is what Governor Bradford said to-day in 
the town-meeting, and so he has set a day for public thanks¬ 
giving. We are to gather at the meeting-house for prayer 
and praise. Afterward there is to be a great feast. For three 
days we are to make merry. 

Mother. Governor Bradford sets us all a good example. 
None of us can forget that sad day, ere we had left the May¬ 
flower, when he came back to the ship to find his wife dead by ‘ 
drowning. Yet no one ever saw him give way to selfish grief. 

John Alden. And in the time of the great sickness he and 
Miles Standish were untiring in their loving care for the sick 
and dying. 

Mary. It seems hard that our brave Captain’s love and 
care could not save the life of sweet Rose Standish. 

Mother. When sorrow is bravely borne it makes the heart 
tender. Miles Standish is a bluff soldier, but no one has a 
kinder heart. 

Edward {suddenly interrupting). Oh, father! tell us about 
the feast. Are the children to go? Did Governor Bradford 
say anything about us? 

Father. Every one is to go. Even the Indians are to be 
bidden, that thus they may learn we are truly their friends 
and that we wish to share our abundance with them. 

Edward {getting up and going to Father). But the feast, 
father! Do tell us about the feast! 

Father. In good time you shall hear about the feast, but 
a thankful heart is better than a feast. Do not forget to give 
thanks in your heart for our present peace and plenty. 

Betty. Oh, but we do give thanks, father! Every day of 
our lives we are glad that we are no longer hungry. 


STORIES ABOUT THE COLONISTS 


13 


Mary. And we give thanks that Squanto is our friend and 
helps us to be friendly with the other Indians. 

Betty. They look so savage and so strong, father, and there 
are so many of them! Every night when I climb to our dark loft 
to sleep I am glad that we do not need to fear the Indians. 

Edward {going to Betty and speaking proudly). When I am 
a man, Betty, I will be a soldier like Captain Miles Standish. 
I will carry a matchlock and a sword. Then you need never 
fear the Indians. 

Father. Let us hope that Massasoit and his men may keep 
the peace with us so well that there will be no need for match¬ 
locks and swords when you are a man, Edward. 

Mother. Squanto is a true friend to us. He has been a 
great help in this new home of ours. He will do all he can in 
helping us to keep peace with Massasoit. 

John Alden. He has taught us many things. We knew 
nothing about maize until he taught us to plant it in hills, 
and to enrich the soil with fish. 

Father {nodding his approval). And to hoe the earth 
around the stalks, if we would have fat ears. 

Edward. Squanto taught Robert and Richard how to 
catch eels. They go down to the shore and tread them out of 
the mud with their feet. Sometimes the mud is full of fat 
eels. Oh, I wish I were as big as Richard, so that I might 
learn to tread out eels! 

{In his excitement he goes through the motion of 
treading out eels) 

Mother. Often we would have gone hungry, had it not 
been for a pot of good eel broth. 

Aunt Ruth. Squanto showed the lads where to find lob¬ 
sters, too, and how to catch them. 

Mary. And he taught us how to pound the maize into 
meal, and how to cook the meal. 


14 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 

Betty (leaving kettle and going to Mother). Mother, will 
you teach me how to make a journey-cake from pounded 
meal? 

Mother. Yes, Betty, but do not forget to stir the meal in 
the kettle, else we may have scorched samp before we have 
a journey-cake. 

(Betty hastily goes back to the fire-seat and again stirs 
the samp. At this moment laughter and boyish 
voices are heard outside. The door suddenly opens 
and the two lads, Robert and Richard, enter.) 

Aunt Ruth. Here are our builders. How did Isaac Aller- 
ton’s house fare at your hands to-day? 

Robert. It is almost finished. There were five of us at 
work on it this afternoon. 

Father. You have done well. This is the seventh dwelling- 
house in Plymouth; with the meeting-house and the store¬ 
houses. It makes a year’s work that our builders may be 
proud of. (.^4 knock on the door is heard) Hurry and open 
the door, Richard. 

Enter Priscilla Mullens 

Mother. Good-day to you, Priscilla. How is it that you 
are out at this time of day? You are always so busy for 
others when it nears the time for the evening meal. 

(Gives Priscilla a chair) 

Priscilla. It is the news of the great feast that has 
brought me here when I should be at the fireside stirring 
samp, like Betty. I came to see if you can spare Mary to 
help me to-morrow. Do you know that Massasoit and his 
ninety men are to be here for three days? Is not that a goodly 
number for the four wives of Pl)nnouth to feed? 

Mother. It is true, Priscilla, that the great sickness left 
but four wives in the colony, but the maidens are strong and. 


STORIES ABOUT THE COLONISTS 


willing. You are but a maiden, Priscilla, but you have a 
woman’s heart, and as I see you so cheerful and so busy day 
after day, you seem to me to have the strength and the will 
of ten. 

Aunt Ruth. We must all work to prepare for the feast. It 
is well that we have such a goodly store of plums and grapes. 

Mother. This feast will not be like our English feasts. 
We cannot make the old dainties. We have neither milk nor 
eggs. We have no good beef and mutton, and no flour to 
make fine bread. 

Father {cheerily). We must not wish for these things, 
wife. We have found a land of freedom. We will take what 
it can give us and be thankful. 

Mother. I know; I know! We will do our best. 

Aunt Ruth. We have an abundance of corn for samp and 
hominy and Betty’s journey-cakes. There are plenty of eels 
to boil and roast. 

Priscilla. I have been trying my hand at these great 
golden pumpkins. They make fine pie. I want Mary to help 
me make a goodly store of them. 

Aunt Ruth {moving her chair nearer to Priscilla). We have 
heard of your pumpkin pies. Now every cook in the colony 
must needs try her skill at them. There will be no lack of 
pumpkin pies at the Governor’s Thanksgiving feast. 

Priscilla. To-morrow we must get up betimes. The days 
will not be long enough for all we have to do. 

Mother. And night is a poor time to work, when our only 
light is firelight and a fish-oil lamp. 

Mary. I would we had the tallow candles of England. 

Father. Have patience. In good time we shall be able 
to send a ship’s load back to England. Then we may get 
cows in return, and we shall no longer miss the milk and but¬ 
ter and cheese, and the beef and tallow, of our English home. 


i6 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


John Alden. Governor Bradford says that now the har¬ 
vest is over we must get together a cargo of beaver-fur and 
sassafras to send back on the next ship that brings colonists 
to Plymouth. 

Priscilla {arising). I must go, now, to make supper for 
our household. 

John Alden {hastily arising). I will walk home with you, 
Priscilla, if I may. {Exit Priscilla and John Alden) 

Edward {going over to his mother). Since Priscilla and Mary 
are to make so many pumpkin pies for the feast, may I have 
two pieces, mother? 

Mother. He who eats must first earn. What can you do 
for the great feast, Edward? 

Edward. Oh, I had not thought of that! Let me see! I 
can bring wood for the fire and carry water. 

Betty. And I can scour the trenchers, and rub the pewter 
platters until they shine. Mother says that dingy pewter is 
the housekeeper’s disgrace. 

Father. There are lobsters and fish in the ocean and eels 
on the shore. There are turkeys and deer and bear in the 
forest. It may be that your mother will not miss the English 
fare, after all. 

Edward {going excitedly to his father). Oh, father! Are 
you going to hunt for turkeys? May I go with you? Do you 
think that I can shoot a bear? Or may be a deer? Then Betty 
can have a deer-skin dress such as Squanto says the Indian 
maids wear. 

Robert. Squanto says that the bears are very fierce, and 
that the deer are so swift that they can run away much faster 
than a small boy with a heavy matchlock can follow. 

Richard. Do not try for a bear, Edward, until you have 
learned to shoot, else we may have a sad Thanksgiving 
day. 


STORIES ABOUT THE COLONISTS 


17 


Father {sitting down and lifting Edward to his knee). Keep 
away from the forest, Edward, until you are older. Have you 
forgotten how John Billington was lost in it for five days? 

Mother. And was found among unfriendly Indians, 
twenty miles from home? 

Aunt Ruth. And that it took ten men, well armed, to 
persuade the Indians to give him up? 

{The sound of heavy footsteps is heard without. Robert 
quickly runs to the window and looks out. Seeing 
Captain Miles Standish, he throws the door wide 
open. Standish^ with matchlock on shoulderj enters 
the room.) 

Miles Standish. Good-day to you all! Who among you 
is for a hunt to-morrow? We will need many turkeys to feed 
Massasoit and his ninety men. 

Father. Welcome, Captain! There are three here to join 
you for Richard shall go with us to-morrow, on his first hunt. 

Richard. How glad I am, father, that you will let me go! 
Squanto says the turkeys are very plentiful this year. He 
says there are as many as a hundred in some of the flocks. 

Father. I have heard that an Indian once brought in a 
turkey weighing thirty pounds. We shall have need of such 
fowl if Massasoit’s men are as keen of appetite as usual. 

Miles Standish. After the hunt we will practice at arms 
that we may make a brave show at the Governor’s feast. 
Then the Indians may see that we have something with 
which to eke out our scanty numbers. One matchlock offsets 
a score of savages in a fair count, I am thinking. 

Father {hearing footsteps). Go to the door, Richard, and 
see who are outside. 

{Richard goes outside and in a moment returns with 
Squanto and three other Indians) 

Richard. Father, here are Squanto and three other Indi- 


i8 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


ans. They wish to tell Captain Miles Standish that they are 
on their way to Massasoit’s camp. 

Miles Standish {going up to Squanto). Welcome, Squanto. 
What is it you wish? 

Squanto. The white men make a great feast. Squanto and 
his friends go to tell Massasoit to bring all his men. 

Miles Standish. Tell Massasoit that the Governor wishes 
him and his men to stay with us for three days. We will do 
our best to feast them well. 

Squanto. Squanto will tell Massasoit. But first Massasoit 
will go on a great hunt. He will bring many deer for the feast. 

{Exit Squanto and other Indians.) 

Miles Standish. Right glad will we be if Massasoit and 
his men do not come empty handed. One Indian may count 
for twenty at meal times. Ninety Indians may thus be a 
goodly number to feed, as I doubt not the good wife here is 
already thinking. Good-night. We will count on you and 
these two strong lads to help in the great hunt to-morrow. 

{Exit Miles Standish, matchlock on his shoulder.) 

Father. Let us get to our supper and then to bed. We 
have busy days before us. And as we prepare for our feast 
I hope that Edward and Betty will think not more of the 
good things to eat than of the goodness of God in guiding us 
to this free land. 

Mother. And give thanks, too, that we are all here to¬ 
gether, well and strong and happy, and ready to rejoice on 
our first Thanksgiving Day. 

Based on Bradford's History of Plymouth Plantation 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF 
INDEPENDENCE 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AS A BOY 

Benjamin Franklin was one of the greatest Americans. 
Though a poor boy, by his industry and originality he gained 
wealth, made many useful inventions, held important public of¬ 
fices, and during the Revolution, while Minister to France, suc¬ 
ceeded in getting that great nation to send troops and ships to our 
aid. He is famous for having first discovered the true nature of 
electricity by flying a kite in a thunderstorm, and thus bringing 
the electricity from the upper air down by the kite wire. His 
Autobiographyj or life written by himself, has been read by millions 
of boys and girls, to whom it presents a vivid picture of the suc¬ 
cess which can be attained by clear-headedness and perseverance. 
You will also be interested in the proverbs given at the end of the 
selections. These he inserted in an almanac which he published 
as a young man under the name of ^‘Poor Richard. 

I 

My elder brothers were all put apprentices to different 
trades. I was put to the grammar school at eight years of 
age, my father intending to devote me to the service of the 
Church. My early readiness in learning to read, and the opin¬ 
ion of all his friends that I should certainly make a good 
scholar, encouraged him in this purpose of his. My Uncle 
Benjamin, too, approved of it, and proposed to give me all 
his sermons, I suppose as a stock to set up with. I continued, 
however, at the grammar school not quite one year, though 
in that time I had risen gradually from the middle of the class 
of that year to be the head of it, and further was removed 


20 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


into the next class above it in order to go with that into the 
third at the end of the year. 

But my father altered his first intention, took me from the 
grammar school, and sent me to a school for writing and 
arithmetic, kept by a then famous man, very successful in 
his profession generally, and that by mild, encouraging meth¬ 
ods. Under him I acquired a fair writing pretty soon, but I 
failed in the arithmetic, and made no progress in it. 

At ten years old I was taken home to assist my father in 
his business, which was that of a candle-maker and soap¬ 
boiler. I disliked the trade, and had a strong inclination for 
the sea, but my father declared against it; however, living 
near the water, I was much in and about it, learned early to 
swim well, and to manage boats; and when in a boat or canoe 
with other boys, I was commonly allowed to govern, espe¬ 
cially in any case of difficulty. Upon other occasions I was 
generally a leader among the boys, and sometimes led them 
into scrapes, of which I will mention one instance, as it shows 
early public spirit. 

There was a salt marsh that bounded part of the mill-pond, 
on the edge of which, at high water, we used to fish for min¬ 
nows. By much trampling we had made it a mere quagmire. 
My proposal was to build a wharf there fit for us to stand 
upon, and I showed my comrades a large heap of stones, 
which were intended for a new house near the marsh, and 
which would very well suit our purpose. Accordingly, in the 
evening, when the workmen were gone, I assembled a number 
of my play fellows, and working with them diligently like so 
m.any ants, sometimes two or three to a stone, we brought 
them all away and built our little wharf. The next morning 
the workmen were surprised at missing the stones, which 
were found in our wharf. Inquiry was made; we were dis¬ 
covered and complained of; several of us were corrected by 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 21 


our fathers; and, though I pleaded the usefulness of the work, 
mine convinced me that nothing was useful that was not 
honest. 


II 

Benjamin was apprenticed to his brother James to learn the 
printer’s trade, but the two not agreeing very well, Benjamin ran 
away from home, and after a long journey, reached Philadelphia. 

I shall tell in detail of my first entrance into that city, that 
you may in your mind compare such unlikely beginnings 
with the figure I have since made there. I was in my working 
dress, my best clothes being to come round by sea. I was 
dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuffed out with 
shirts and stockings, and I knew no soul nor where to look 
for lodging. I was fatigued with traveling, rowing, and want 
of rest. I was very hungry; and my whole stock of cash con¬ 
sisted of a Dutch dollar, and about a shilling in copper. The 
latter I gave the people of the boat for my passage, who at 
first refused it, on account of my rowing; but I insisted on 
their taking it. A man is sometimes more generous when he 
has but a little money than when he has plenty, perhaps 
through fear of being thought to have but little. 

Then I walked up the street, gazing about till near the 
market place I met a boy with bread. I had made many a 
meal on bread, and, inquiring where he got it, I went imme¬ 
diately to the baker’s he directed me to, in Second Street, and 
asked for biscuit, intending such as we had in Boston; but 
they, it seems, were not made in Philadelphia. Then I asked 
for a threepenny loaf, and was told that they had none such. 
So not considering or knowing the difference of money, and 
the greater cheapness nor the names of his bread, I bade him 
give me threepenny worth of any sort. He gave me, accord¬ 
ingly, three great puffy rolls. I was surprised at the quantity, 


22 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


but took it, and, having no room in my pockets, walked off 
with a roll under each arm, and eating the other. 

Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth Street, 
passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife’s father. 
She, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I 
certainly did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then 
I turned and went down Chestnut Street and part of Walnut 
Street, eating my roll all the way, and coming round, found 
myself again at Market Street wharf, near the boat I came 
in, to which I went for a draught of the river water; and 
being filled with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a 
woman and her child that came down the river in the boat 
with us, and were waiting to go farther. 

Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this 
time had many clean-dressed people in it, who were all walk¬ 
ing the same way. I joined them, and thereby was led into 
the great meeting house of the Quakers near the market. I 
sat down among them, and, after looking round awhile and 
hearing nothing said, being very drowsy through labor and 
want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and con¬ 
tinued so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind enough 
to rouse me. This, was, therefore, the first house I was in, 
or slept in, in Philadelphia. 


Ill 

A word to the wise is enough. 

God helps them that help themselves. 

Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labor wears; while 
the used key is always bright. 

Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is 
the stuff that life is made of. 

The sleeping fox catches no poultry. 

Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all easy. 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 


23 


Laziness travels so slowly that Poverty soon overtakes him. 

Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, and 
wealthy, and wise. 

Now that I have a sheep and a cow, everybody bids me 
good morrow. 

Keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee. 

If you would have your business done, go; if not, send. 
He that by the plow would thrive, 

Himself must either hold or drive. 

A little neglect may breed great mischief; for want of a nail 
the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe the horse was lost; and 
for want of a horse the rider was lost, being overtaken and 
slain by the enemy; all for want of a little care about a horse¬ 
shoe nail. 

Many a little makes a mickle. 

A small leak will sink a great ship. 

If you would know the value of money, go and try to 
borrow some: for he that goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing. 

It is easier to build two chimneys than to keep one in fuel. 

Better go to bed supperless than to rise in debt. 

Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no 
other. 

If you will not hear Reason, she will surely rap your 
knuckles. 

From Franklin^s Autobiography 

GEORGE WASHINGTON, THE YOUNG SOLDIER 

During the years 1700 to 1750 there was a great deal of 
fighting in America. Much of it was caused by the fact that 
whenever England and France were at war, their colonies 
also fought. After a while, however, the colonists of England 
and France had a quarrel of their own. Its occasion was the 


24 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


land along the Ohio River. This message came to the French: 
‘‘Those Englishmen are planning to send out settlers to the 
Ohio.” 

“That will not do,” declared the French. “We want to be 
able to float down the Ohio into the Mississippi, and so on 
to the Gulf of Mexico. La Salle explored the Ohio. More¬ 
over, we discovered the Mississippi, and the Ohio flows into 
it; therefore the Ohio is ours.” 

The English laughed at this. “The French claim all the 
rivers that flow into the Mississippi!” they cried. “They 
might as well claim all the countries that drink French 
brandy.” 

Both nations knew that a strong fort built at the point 
where the Allegheny joins the Monongahela would hold the 
river, for no enemies could sail by such a fortification. Gov¬ 
ernor Duquesne of Canada began quietly to build forts, each 
one a little nearer this spot. Governor Dinwiddie of Virginia 
was wide awake and keeping a close watch on the doings of 
the French. When he heard that a third fort had been begun, 
he said to himself, “That has gone far enough. I will send 
some one to warn them that this land belongs to us.” 

It was not easy to choose a messenger. The governor 
thought it over. “It is a hard journey,” he said to himself. 
“There will be ice and snow and Indians and all sorts of dan¬ 
gers. We must have a man who knows how to make his way 
through the forest and will not be afraid of difficulties. That 
young surveyor who has done so much work for Lord Fair¬ 
fax is a good woodsman. He is cool and sensible, and what¬ 
ever he undertakes he does well. He is not the man to be 
imposed upon, either; and even if those smooth Frenchmen 
treat him as if he were the king of France, he will not forget i 
what he was sent for.” There was something else to be care¬ 
ful about. “It wonT do to send any rude, blunt messenger,” 



STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 25 

thought the governor. ^‘Such a fellow would get us into a 
fight in three days. This young Washington knows how to 
behave in a parlor as well as in the forest. The youngster 
is only twenty-one, but I believe he is the man to go.” 

Then the governor sent for the young man and told him 
what was needed. He set out with a little company of white 
men and Indians. The mountains were covered with snow, 
and the cold November rains were falling. Drip, drip, 
came the water from the branches as the men pushed on in 
Indian file through the wilderness. For two weeks it either 
rained or snowed, and it was always cold and wet. The wind 
blew upon them in tempests whenever they left the shelter 
of the forest. The heavy rains had swollen the brooks to 
creeks, and the creeks to rivers; but, large or small, they must 
all be crossed. 

At last Washington saw through the trees the gleam of 
the French flag and smoke rising from a chimney. This was 
the nearest of the three forts, though it was hardly a fort 
> as yet. The French were most polite to their English visitors; 
but they were exceedingly careful not to say a word that 
would show what their plans were. ^‘The commander is at 
Fort Le Boeuf,” they said, ^^and the reply must come from 
him. It is time for supper now; come and eat with us.” At 
supper they drank a good deal of wine, and then they for¬ 
got their caution. ^‘We are going to have the Ohio,” they 
declared; and went on good-naturedly, ‘‘Of course you can 
raise two men to our one, but your English are slow folk. We 
can build our forts and take the whole country while you 
are getting ready.” Washington did not boast about what 
the English could do, but he wrote all this carefully in his 
journal to show to Governor Dinwiddie. 

The next day he went on to Fort Le Boeuf. He presented 
the governor’s letter, which reminded the French that they 


26 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


were on land belonging to the English. The commander re¬ 
plied, ‘‘I will send the letter to Governor Duquesne; but this 
is where he has placed me, and here I must stay until he 
sends me somewhere else.’’ 

Washington took his leave. The horses went so slowly 
through the snow that, to save time, he returned on foot with 
only one man. The coming had been hard enough, but the 
return was much worse. The cold had become more intense; 
the rivers were full of floating ice. Washington was knocked 
off the raft into ten feet of bitterly cold water, and had to 
spend that night on a little island without fire or shelter. 
There was danger from the Indians, and more than once 
he was fired upon by them; but he came out safely from 
all dangers and gave Governor Dinwiddie the French com¬ 
mander’s reply. 

‘‘We must get ahead of them,” declared the governor. 
“We will build a fort just where the Allegheny joins the 
Monongahela, and we will hold the Ohio.” So he sent men 
there to build the fort; but the French drove them away, and 
in high glee built a fortification of their own which they 
named for the governor. Fort Duquesne. Governor Din¬ 
widdie had sent another band of men to help the first, with 
Washington at its head. He heard that the French had 
driven the first colonists away and were coming to attack his 
company. With his few men he could not meet them, so he 
went back a little way to wait for more troops. 

It was not long before a few militiamen and fifty regular 
soldiers came. Their captain put on a great many airs be¬ 
cause his regulars were paid by the king. “We belong to 
the king’s army,” he declared, “and the king’s soldiers do 
not take orders from a young fellow in the colonial militia.” 
His men followed their captain’s lead and refused to help 
make a road or drag the cannon. They were soon frightened 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 27 

into helping, however, for the scouts told them that the 
French were coming upon them. Then they forgot that 
they were taking orders from a colonial major and worked 
as hard as they could to help make an intrenchment, dig a 
ditch, and cut down trees for breastworks. The French came 
upon them, twice as many as the colonists. The fight lasted 
for nine hours. The powder gave out and the provisions gave 
out. There was nothing to be gained by lying down behind 
the logs and starving; so Washington yielded and led his 
soldiers home. The French were jubilant. They had driven 
off the English and they held the Ohio. . 

But somehow the English would not stay driven off. At 
length the king of England began to find out that the French 
were trying to crowd his colonies into a little strip of land 
near the coast, and that if he expected to have any more 
than that he must fight. Then he sent General Braddock to 
Virginia with one thousand men. 

Long before the vessel came to the wharf, the colonists 
could see the red coats of the soldiers. The regulars were 
with them, and they were delighted. Braddock made Wash¬ 
ington one of his officers, but he had no idea of listening to his 
advice. Washington was much troubled. ‘‘The general 
knows how to fight the French,’’ he thought, “but he seems 
to think that the Indians will march out in line like white 
men.” So he told him respectfully how the Indians behaved 
in a fight. “They hide behind rocks and trees,” he said, 
“and there will be a storm of bullets when no one is in sight.” 

“Regulars know how to return bullets,” replied Brad¬ 
dock. “It would be a strange thing if British troops could 
not meet a handful of naked Indians.” 

The line of redcoats and of colonial soldiers set out on the 
long hard march through the forest. They crossed the Mo- 
nongahela. They were climbing a hill when suddenly shots 


28 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 

began to come from all directions and the forest echoed with 
the yells of the Indians. The French were in front, the In¬ 
dians were on both sides, but hidden behind trees. The regu¬ 
lars were so dazed at this new kind of fighting that they ran 
like sheep. The colonists had learned how to meet Indians, 
and so they hid behind trees and returned the fire. Even 
then Braddock could not see that there was any other way 
to fight than the one he had learned, and he shouted to his 
men to come out and form in line. Of course the only end 
to such a battle was the wild retreat of the English. Can¬ 
non, provisions, food, arms, clothes, horses, and money were 
forgotten in the mad rush for safety. Braddock was mor¬ 
tally woimded and soon died. When the fugitives dared to 
stop, he was buried in the forest, and wagons were rolled over 
his grave lest the Indians should find it. 

It was owing chiefly to Washington's skill and coolness 
that any of the men escaped. Four bullets were shot through 
his coat, but he was not hurt. Afterwards an Indian chief 
said, ‘‘He will never die in battle. I told all my braves to aim 
at him, but they could not hit him.” If the Indian had known 
what severe fighting lay before the young officer, he might 
not have been so sure that Washington would never die in 
battle. 

Eva March Tap pan {Adapted) 

A RACE FOR LIBERTY' 

Near midnight of April i8,1775, a boat with mufiSed oars 
was rowed softly but swiftly across the Charles River from 
near Copp’s Hill, in the northern peninsula, to the opposite 
shore, not far from the foot of Bunlcer (or Breed’s) Hill in 
Charlestown — also a peninsula. They passed so near to a 
^ From Strange Stories of the Revolution. Copyright. Harper and Brothers. 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 29 

British man-of-war lying at anchor in the stream that they 
could hear the rigging rattle as the great vessel rocked on the 
slow waves, and could hear the voices of the watch on the 
deck. But the boat reached the shore without being dis¬ 
covered; and a young man who had sat in tlie bow, silent and 
watchful, sprang out promptly. He was Paul Revere — fa¬ 
miliar to most American readers as the man who warned the 
people on the road to Lexington of the approach of the Brit¬ 
ish troops. His friends in Charlestown had seen two lights in 
the belfry of the Old North Church in Boston, which was the 
signal agreed upon to show that the British were crossing the 
road to Cambridge. 

Deacon Larkin’s black horse was ready for the messenger 
of warning, and in a few minutes Paul Revere was riding 
along the road on the southwest side of the Charlestown hills 
to the Neck. Here he took the left-hand road, leading through 
Cambridge; but the British had already landed. Only a short 
distance along this road grew some great shady trees; and 
out from their shadow two armed redcoats spurred on their 
horses to meet Revere. Back on his course quickly turned 
the young patriot, closely followed by his foes. The swifter 
one, to shorten the distance, attempted to ride across a space 
from which clay had been dug out for brick-making. The 
water of the melting snows and ice had soaked the clay, mak¬ 
ing a deep mire. When the horse had floundered out of this, 
Revere had got well in advance up the northerly or right- 
hand road, which led through Medford — this route being 
longer by a mile. 

Revere reached Lexington without further reverse, having 
roused and warned the sleepy families along the way. At a 
few minutes past twelve o’clock (the morning of the fateful 
April 19th) Revere rode along between the meeting-house and 
Buckman’s tavern, northward past the Green, to the house 


30 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


of Rev. Jonas Clark, where the patriots Hancock and Adams 
were staying. Here, for half an hour, rider and horse took a 
rest. Then arrived another messenger, William Dawes, who 
had come all the way by land, through West Roxbury and 
Brookline. The two started off together to warn the people 
at Concord, six miles farther on. 

They had gone but a short distance when another horseman 
came galloping up behind them. He proved to be Dr. Pres¬ 
cott, of Concord, who had been spending a social evening 
with some friends in Lexington. He was truly, as Revere 
described him, ‘‘A high Son of Liberty’’; and he lent his as¬ 
sistance in awaking the residents along the road and giving 
the alarm. 

About halfway between the two villages, at a shady turn 
of the road. Revere, who was in advance of the others, was 
brought to a stand by a line of mounted redcoats extending 
across the way. He took the avenue of escape — for he had 
not time to turn his horse entirely about — and rode through 
an open gateway just by him, into a field. After him went 
two or more of the redcoats. 

Next Dawes and Prescott came up, were met by others of 
the British, and turned into the field, pursued by some of the 
enemy. 

Revere had ridden toward the woods back of the field, 
with the intention of leaving his horse and escaping through 
the woods and fields on foot to Concord; but out from the 
shade of the trees there rushed on him two other mounted 
redcoats, who made him a prisoner. 

Nearly eight hundred British regulars were at this moment 
on the march, and Concord, with its valuable military sup¬ 
plies, slept on, unconscious that before the sun had reached 
meridian their village was to swarm with redcoats bent on 
destruction. 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 


31 


Dr. Prescott, perceiving several redcoated horsemen near 
the woods, took his course at a gallop through the middle of 
the field. He knew both his horse and locality well, and led 
his pursuers a short but lively chase. Having distanced them a 
little, he wheeled his horse toward the road, and spurred him up 
to the wall, over which he made a clear leap to the highway. 

The discomfited redcoats turned back without attempting 
to imitate the break-neck feat. 

While the British were securing Revere and chasing Dr. 
Prescott, Dawes had turned about and ridden back the way 
they had come; but he, too, was pursued by a pair of mounted 
soldiers. His horse was quite fagged with his long journey, 
and the fresh horses of his pursuers were almost up with him 
in the first quarter-mile. Near the road at this point stood a 
farmhouse, all dark and silent, and Dawes rode into its 
shadow and close up to the porch at full speed. 

As his horse stopped short, Dawes slapped his hand down 
on his leather breeches with a resounding thwack, and called 
out as if to persons inside: 

“Halloo, boys! IVe got two of ’em.” 

The redcoats were struck with the idea that a lot of armed 
Yankees would the next instant rush out upon them, and 
they whirled their horses about and galloped away at their 
best speed. 

As soon as they were out of sight Dawes resumed his course 
back toward Lexington. The next morning the family found 
a big silver watch on the ground. Dawes had stopped so 
suddenly that it had been flung from his pocket. He had felt 
the movement, but in the excitement of the moment gave it 
no thought; his property was restored to him later. 

As soon as possible, pursuit of Dr. Prescott was made along 
the road, but it was a blank failure. The ten or twelve red¬ 
coats soon started back toward Lexington with their solitary 


32 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


prisoner, Paul Revere. They were abusive at first, but he was 
so fearless, and told them such alarming stories of the rallying 
of the minute-men all along the route, that they were much 
frightened; and when they came near Lexington and heard 
the bells ringing and the drums beating, they gave Revere no 
attention at all, and he slipped away from them without their 
making any attempt to restrain him, so anxious were they 
now to make their own escape. 

Note — It is generally believed that Paul Revere personally 
warned Concord, a notion derived from Longfellow’s poem, Paid 
Revere's Ride, wherein is some poetic license. The authorities for 
the present story are Revere and Dawes themselves. Revere’s 
account of the ride is given in a communication from him to the 
Massachusetts Historical Society in 1798. 

George D. Varney 

YANKEE DOODLE 

It is the tune rather than the words which have given popularity 
to the song. Hungary, Holland, Spain, France, and England have 
each in turn claimed it. 

Yankee Doodle became an American song in 1755. In June of 
that year General Braddock was in command of a body of British 
and Colonial troops at Little Meadows, Pennsylvania, for an 
attack on the French and Indians at Fort Duquesne. The colo¬ 
nists came into camp wearing grotesque uniforms which provoked 
mirth and ridicule among the British soldiers. 

Among the regulars was a Dr. Richard Schucklung, who for 
a joke upon the Continentals called attention to the old air to 
the tune of which it was said Cromwell had ridden into Oxford. 
He ordered the band to play this as the latest martial music of 
England. The colonists stepped lively to the tune and enjoyed it 
as much as the regulars. 

^ The significance of the song came later when in the Revolu¬ 
tionary War at Concord and Lexington the Americans pursued 
the retreating British to the tune of Yankee Doodle. 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 33 

Lord Cornwallis surrendered his army and his sword to Wash¬ 
ington to the same tune. 

Numerous verses have been written to the air of Yankee Doodley 
but the song given here is the one that was best known during 
our War for Independence. The words are said to have been writ¬ 
ten by a gentleman of Connecticut whose name is unknown. 

Father and I went down to camp, 

Along with Captain Gooding, 

And there we see the men and boys, 

As thick as hasty pudding. 

Chorus — Yankee Doodle, keep it up, 

Yankee Doodle, dandy. 

Mind the music and the step. 

And with the girls be handy. 

And there we see a thousand men. 

As rich as ’Squire David; 

And what they wasted every day 
I wished it could be saved. 

The ’lasses they eat every day 
Would keep an house a winter; 

They have as much that, I ’ll be bound. 

They eat it when they’re a mind to. 

And there we see a swamping gun. 

Large as a log of maple. 

Upon a deuced little cart, 

A load for father’s cattle. 

And every time they shoot it off. 

It takes a horn of powder. 

And makes a noise like father’s gun, 

Only a nation louder. 


34 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


I went as nigh to one myself 
As Siah’s underpinning; 

And father went as nigh again, 

I thought the deuce was in him. 

Cousin Simon grew so bold, 

I thought he would have cocked it; 

It scared me so, I shrinked it off. 

And hung by father’s pocket. 

And Captain Davis had a gun. 

He kind of clapt his hand on’t. 

And stuck a crooked stabbing iron 
Upon the little end on’t. 

And there I see a pumpkin shell 
As big as mother’s bason; 

And every time they touched it off. 
They scampered like the nation. 

I see a little barrel, too. 

The heads were made of leather. 

They knocked upon’t with little clubs 
And called the folks together. 

And there was Captain Washington, 
And gentlefolks about him, 

They say he’s grown so tarnal proud 
He will not ride without ’em. 

He got him on his meeting clothes, 
Upon a strapping stallion, 

He set the world along in rows, 

In hundreds and in millions. 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 35 

The flaming ribbons in his hat, 

They looked so tearing fine ah, 

I wanted pockily to get, 

To give to my Jemimah. 

I see another snarl of men 
A digging graves, they told me. 

So tarnal long, so tarnal deep. 

They Tended they should hold me. 

It scared me so, I hooked it off. 

Nor stopped, as I remember. 

Nor turned about, till I got home. 

Locked up in mother’s chamber. 

THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL 
June 17, 1775 

Charlestown, like Boston, was built upon a peninsula 
and on it were two hills which have since been considerably 
lowered. These heights were known as Bunker Hill and 
Breed’s Hill and were within easy gunshot of Boston. Gage 
saw that it would be wise to get them under his control and 
planned to occupy them on the night of June i8th. But the 
Americans were as quick as he to realize the importance 
of these hills and they determined to seize and fortify one 
of them. 

The evening of June i6th saw a great stir on Cambridge 
Common, for twelve hundred colonists were mustered there 
for special duty. Colonel Prescott was given the command 
of the soldiers. He had fought in the wars with the French 
and was a man of great coolness and resource. With him was 
bii^ve Pid Ismel Putnam, a Connecticut farmer and veteran 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


36 

of many an Indian war. Prayers were said by the President 
of Harvard College and then the men marched away in the 
direction of Charlestown. Few of them had been told that 
they were expected to capture a hill well in range of the Brit¬ 
ish guns; but they all knew that they set out to fight and 
perhaps to die. 

The colonial soldiers took with them wagons laden with 
spades and picks, but only a very scant supply of food. As 
the road they followed took them in front of the English 
ships, they marched with hushed voices and noiseless tread. 
Bunker Hill had been suggested as the best place to fortify; 
but Prescott understood that his orders were to take Breed’s 
Hill; so he marched on there, although it was much nearer 
Boston and infinitely more dangerous to reach than Bunker 
Hill. 

The night was warm and still. There was no moon, but the 
stars were unusually bright. Across the river Boston and* 
her garrison were asleep and in the Bay the British ships lay, 
a grave menace of war; but they too slept. 

When the top of the hill was reached an engineer marked 
out the lines for a redoubt and as the bell of Boston struck 
twelve the patriots fell to work. Most of them were accus¬ 
tomed to handling pickaxe and spade, so they worked with 
swiftness and skill, although they used caution lest the clang 
of iron against a stone should rouse the enemy. While officers 
and men dug and piled the earth into a low wall there floated 
up to them, from time to time, the singsong call of the British 
sentinel: All is well! ’’ 

Wflien morning came in all its summer glory. General Gage 
rubbed his eyes in amazement to see a strong intrenchment 
and hundreds of armed men where the evening before there 
had been only a field of gently waving grass. The battleships 
woke to some purpose and their guns began to hurl shot and 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 37 

shell at the Americans who swarmed up the hilltop like a 
colony of busy ants. 

The unaccustomed boom of the big guns might have 
worked havoc among the raw troops, for the earth-shaking 
noises were enough to frighten better-seasoned soldiers; but 
Colonel Prescott’s coolness gave confidence to his men. He 
deliberately exposed himself to the fire, walking fearlessly 
on the top of the mud parapet while he talked to and en¬ 
couraged the workers. 

Gage, peering through his glasses, saw the tall figure of the 
American leader and, turning to a bystander, who chanced 
to be Prescott’s brother-in-law, he asked: — 

^‘Will he fight?” 

‘‘Yes, sir,” was the answer; “to the last drop of his blood!” 

General Gage was annoyed, but he foresaw no great diffi¬ 
culty in dislodging the Americans from their position on the 
hilltop. He never dreamed that they could seriously oppose 
the regular troops. 

At noon Generals Howe and Pigot crossed over from Boston 
with two thousand soldiers to drive away the colonists and 
capture their works. After reconnoitering. General Howe 
sent back the barges for more men, and was not satisfied until 
the British force numbered twenty-five hundred. 

In spite of the disturbing fire from the warships, the Amer¬ 
icans had labored at their intrenchments until they had a 
breastwork reaching from the redoubt to the bottom of the 
hill. It was a fragile barrier, for it was built partly of new- 
mown hay and wooden fences, but at least it helped to inspire 
the patriots with confidence. 

The British soldiers were a brave sight in their glowing 
uniforms and with their bayonets flashing in the sun. The 
tired, disheveled men on Breed’s Hill looked down upon them 
with quickening pulse; but the colonial soldiers were not cow- 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


38 

aids. They waited calmly for the attack, although most of 
them had never before tasted battle. Prescott sent back to 
Cambridge for help; but the machinery of the American army 
was too new to move quickly. Little help came; so the brunt 
of the battle of Bunker Hill, as it was inaccurately called, was 
borne by the men who were worn by the toil of many hours. 

The day was hot, there was no water on the hilltop, and the 
Americans, suffering from thirst and hunger, had to see the 
British soldiers eating and drinking. Howe had seen that to 
reach the rebels meant a march uphill through high, thick 
grass, and before beginning the climb, he halted his troops 
for refreshment. Jugs of cool drink passed along the ranks, 
and the laughter and talk of the trained soldiers floated up 
to the white-faced volunteers above, who tried not to think 
of their hunger and their parched throats. 

At last an order was given by the British generals and the 
soldiers rose and moved up the hill with the precision of 
clockwork. 

When they were yet a long way from the top they opened a 
harmless fire of musketry; but it was not returned by the 
colonists, who, having no powder to waste, withheld their fire 
until the enemy was near enough for the officers to be dis¬ 
tinguished from the men. Then all the muskets of the Ameri¬ 
cans spoke at once. The colonists could shoot straight and 
each man had taken careful aim, so that few of their bullets 
were wasted. 

The number of British to go down before that first volley 
was enormous. The regulars turned in confusion; but a re¬ 
morseless fire followed them down the hill. Again they ad¬ 
vanced, only to be turned a second time with terrible loss. 
Then, at the foot of the hill, the British laid down their knap¬ 
sacks and stripped off their heavy coats. An alarming num¬ 
ber of officers had .fallen, but where no officer was left, the 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 39 

oldest private soldier took command. A third time the British 
charged up the hill where now the trampled grass was slippery 
with blood. 

There were brave men on both sides that day! 

Crowded onto the house-tops of Boston, breathless throngs 
watched the progress of the battle. Charlestown had caught 
fire and the wooden houses going up to the sky in smoke and 
flame made a background of awdul grandeur for the scene. 
General Gage, as he gazed through his glasses, changed his 
opinion of the Americans, so that he wrote later to the Sec¬ 
retary of State in England: “The rebels are shown not to be 
the disorderly rabble too many have supposed.’’ 

How the battle would have ended if the Americans had not 
run short of ammunition it is impossible to tell. As it was, 
the third attack of the British could not be repulsed. The 
little store of powder and the few bullets were exhausted. The 
colonists had neither bayonets nor the skill to use them. The 
British swarmed over the low wall of the redoubt and drove 
the Americans back with practiced thrusts of steel. The colo¬ 
nists fought with the butts of their guns and with stones; but 
they were driven out and forced to retreat down the hill and 
across the Neck to Cambridge, the English ships raking them 
with shot as they went. 

The Americans were beaten and driven from the field, but 
theirs was a glorious defeat. When Washington heard of it 
he exclaimed, “Thank God the liberties of the country are 
safe!” And that was the feeling of every patriot, because it 
was proved that it was possible for untrained Americans to 
fight the best troops of England. With training and the 
proper facilities for war, victory was certain. 

King George, however, was not convinced of this unwel¬ 
come truth. Eleven hundred English and nearly five hundred 
Americans lay dead after the battle of Bunker Hill; but there 


40 STORIES OF PATRIOTISM i 

must be great suffering, more bloodshed, and the American 
colonies must pass out of his reach forever, before the pride- 
blind monarch would believe that his will could be defied. 

Marie Louise Herdman 

RODNEY’S RIDE 
July 3, 1776 

In that soft midland where the breezes bear 
The north and the south on the genial air, 

Through the county of Kent, on affairs of state, 

Rode Caesar Rodney, the delegate. 

Burly and big, and bold and bluff. 

In his three-cornered hat and his suit of snuff, 

A foe to King George and the English state 
Was Caesar Rodney, the delegate. 

Into Dover village he rode apace. 

And his kinsfolk knew, from his anxious face. 

It was matter grave that had brought him there, 

To the counties three upon Delaware. 

Money and men we must have,” he said, 

‘‘Or the Congress fails and our cause is dead. 

Give us both and the king shall not work his will — 
We are men, since the blood of Bunker Hill.” 

Comes a rider swift on a panting bay; 

“Hollo, Rodney, ho! you must save the day; 

For the Congress halts at a deed so great. 

And your vote alone may decide its fate!” 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 41 

Answered Rodney then: ^‘I will ride with speed; 

It is Liberty’s stress; it is Freedom’s need. 

When stands it?” '‘To-night. Not a moment spare, 
But ride like the wind, from the Delaware.” 

"Ho, saddle the black! I’ve but half a day, 

And the Congress sits eighty miles away, — 

But I ’ll be in time, if God grants me grace. 

To shake my fist in King George’s face.” 

He is up I he is off! and the black horse flies 
On the northward road ere the "Godspeed!” dies. 

It is gallop and spur, as the leagues they clear. 

And the clustering milestones lag a-rear. 

It is two of the clock; and the fleet hoofs fling 
The Fieldsboro’ dust with a clang and cling. 

It is three; and he gallops with slack rein where 
The roads wind round to the Delaware. 

Four; and he spurs into Newcastle town. 

From his panting steed he gets him down — 

"A fresh one quick; not a moment’s wait!” 

And off sped Rodney, the delegate. 

It is five; and the beams of the western sun 
Tinge the spires of Wilmington, gold and dun. 

Six; and the dust of the Chester Street 
Flies back in a cloud from his courser’s feet. 

It is seven; the horse-boat, broad of beam. 

At the Schuylkill ferry crawls over the stream — 

And at seven-fifteen by the Rittenhouse Clock 
He flings his rein to the tavern jock, 


42 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


The Congress is met; the debate’s begun, 

And Liberty lags for the vote of one — 

When into the hall, not a moment late. 

Walks Caesar Rodney, the delegate. 

Not a moment late! And that half day’s ride 
Forwards the world with a mighty stride: — 

For the Act was passed, ere the midnight stroke 
O’er the Quaker City its echoes woke. 

At Tyranny’s feet was the gauntlet flung; 

‘‘We are free!” all the bells through the colonies rung. 
And the sons of the free may recall with pride 
The day of Delegate Rodney’s ride. 

Elhridge S. Brooks 


SIGNING THE DECLARATION 
July 4, 1776 

The bell on the Pennsylvania State House which was rung to 
announce that Congress had passed the measure, bore the words 
upon it: “Proclaim liberty throughout the land, unto all the in¬ 
habitants thereof” (Leviticus xxv, 10). 

It is a cloudless summer day; a clear blue sky arches and 
smiles above a quaint edifice rising among giant trees in the 
center of a wide city. That edifice is built of plain red brick, 
with heavy window frames and a massive hall door. 

Such is the State House of Philadelphia in the year of our 
Lord 1776. 

In yonder wooden steeple, which crowns the summit of 
that red-brick building, stands an old man with snow-white 
hair and sunburnt face. He is clad in humble attire, yet his 
eye gleams as it is fixed on the ponderous outline of the bell 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 43 

suspended in the steeple there. By his side, gazing into his 
sunburnt face in wonder, stands a flaxen-haired boy with 
laughing eyes of summer blue. The old man ponders for a 
moment upon the strange words written upon the bell, then, 
gathering the boy in his arms, he speaks: “Look here, my 
child. Will you do this old man a kindness? Then hasten 
down the stairs and wait in the hall below till a man gives 
you a message for me; when he gives you that word, run out 
into the street and shout it up to me. Do you mind?’^ The 
boy sprang from the old man^s arms and threaded his way 
down the dark stairs. 

Many minutes passed. The old bell-keeper was alone. 
“Ah!” groaned the old man; “he has forgotten me.” As the 
word was upon his lips a merry, ringing laugh broke on his 
ear. And there, among the crowds on the pavement, stood 
the blue-eyed boy, clapping his tiny hands, while the breeze 
blew his flaxen hair all about his face. Then, swelling his little 
chest, he raised himself on tiptoe and shouted the single word, 
“Ring!” 

Do you see that old man’s eye fire? Do you see that arm 
so suddenly bared to the shoulder? Do you see that withered 
hand grasping the iron tongue of the bell? That old man is 
young again. His veins are filling with a new life. Backward 
and forward, with sturdy strokes, he swings the tongue. The 
bell peals out; the crowds in the street hear it, and burst forth 
in one long shout. Old Delaware hears it, and gives it back in 
the cheers of her thousand sailors. The city hears it, and 
starts up, from desk and workbench, as if an earthquake had 
spoken. 


George Lippard 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


THE INDEPENDENCE BELL 

There was tumult in the city, 

In the quaint old Quaker town, 

And the streets were rife with people 
Pacing restless up and down — 

People gathering at the corners. 

Where they whispered each to each. 
And the sweat stood on their temples. 
With the earnestness of speech. 

As the bleak Atlantic currents 
Lash the wild Newfoundland shore. 

So they beat against the State House; 

So they beat against the door; 

And the mingling of their voices 
Made a harmony profound, 

Till the quiet street of Chestnut 
Was all turbulent with sound. 

‘^Will they do it?’’ ^‘Dare they do it?” 

“Who is speaking?” “What’s the news? 

“What of Adams?” “What of Sherman?” 

“Oh, God, grant they won’t refuse.” 

“Make some way there!” “Let me nearer! 

“ I am stifling! ” “ Stifle then! 

When a nation’s life’s at hazard 
We’ve no time to think of men!” 

So they surged against the State House 
While all solemnly inside 
Sat the “Continental Congress,” 

Truth and reason for their guide. 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 


45 


O’er a simple scroll debating 
Which though simple it might be, 
Yet should shake the cliffs of England 
With the thunders of the free. 

Far aloft in that high steeple 
Sat the bellman, old and gray, 

He was weary of the tyrant 
And his iron-sceptered sway. 

So he sat with one hand ready 
On the clapper of the bell 
When his eye should catch the signal 
The long-expected news to tell. 

See! See! The dense crowd quivers 
Through all its lengthy line 
As the boy beside the portal 
Hastens forth to give the sign; 

With his little hands uplifted, 

Breezes dallying with his hair. 

Hark! With deep clear intonation 
Breaks his young voice on the air. 

Hushed the people’s swelling murmur 
Whilst the boy cries joyously 
^^Ring,” he shouts, ‘‘Ring! grandpa, 
Ring! oh, ring for Liberty!” 

Quickly at the given signal 
The old bellman lifts his hand, 
Forth he sends the good news, making 
Iron music through the land. 

How they shouted! What rejoicing! 
How the old bell shook the air, 


46 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Till the clang of freedom ruffled 
The calmly gliding Delaware. 

How the bon-fires and the torches 
Lighted up the night’s repose, 

And from the flames like fabled Phoenix, 

Our glorious Liberty arose. 

That old State House bell is silent, 

Hushed now its clamorous tongue. 

But the spirit it awakened 
Still is living — ever young; 

And when we greet the smiling sunlight 
On the Fourth of each July, 

We will ne’er forget the bellman 
Who twixt the earth and sky. 

Rang out loudly ^‘Independence!” 

Which, please God, shall never die! 

Anonymous 


THE MARTYR PATRIOT ^ 

Nathan Hale was born in Connecticut in 1755. He grew 
up to be a handsome, talented boy, who was not only bright 
in his studies, but one of the finest athletes in all the country 
round. He was a swift runner, a fine leaper, and excelled all 
his playmates in outdoor sports. He was cheerful in his dis¬ 
position, truthful, and a favorite with all who knew him. He 
was very much like Washington, and it is no wonder that his 
friends were proud of him. 

When Hale was a boy he was so far along in his studies that 
he was sent to Yale College. There he was popular with the 

^ From Stories from American History^ by Edward S. Ellis, published by 
A, Flanagan Company, Chicago. 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 47 

teachers and students, for hte was manly and noble in all that 
he did. You know that Yale College, like other high schools 
of its kind, gives much attention to athletics. If they had 
had a champion football team in those days, I am sure that 
Nathan Hale would have been among their star players. One 
day there was a jumping match on the New Haven Green. 
The young men were skillful at that, and many of them made 
much longer leaps than you or I can make to-day. When it 
came Haleys turn to try, he caused every eye to open in aston¬ 
ishment, for as he sprang from the ground he seemed to go 
sailing through the air like a bird. When he struck the earth 
he was so far in advance of all the others that they clapped 
their hands with delight. Nothing of the kind was ever seen 
before, and no one tried to see what he could do after Hale 
made that tremendous leap. His friends were so pleased that 
they marked the spot where he left the ground and where he 
came down. Then they put a fence around it to prevent the 
marks from being rubbed out. That fence stood for many 
years. When some student began to boast of what he could 
do in the way of jumping, the others would take him to the 
spot and point out what Nathan Hale did when he was a 
student at Yale. 

‘‘Suppose you begin with that'^ they would say to the am¬ 
bitious athlete, who, after measuring the length with his eye, 
would shake his head and walk away. He knew he never could 
perform a feat like that, and so he said no more about it. 

Hale was graduated from college with high honors and 
everybody wished him well. He was poor and began teaching 
school at New London, and was there when news came of the 
battle of Lexington. He was scarcely twenty years old, but 
his whole soul glowed with patriotism. He had intended to 
become a minister, but he felt now that his duty was to serve 
his country. He gave up his school at once and went around 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


among his friends, asking them to join him in going to the 
help of the patriots. A good many did so, and the next day 
the little company were marching as rapidly as they could to 
Boston. He was so bright and devoted to his work that as 
soon as they arrived Nathan was made a lieutenant. He was 
set to work guarding the seacoast near New London, but 
after a time was sent to Boston again, where he was with 
Washington durmg the siege of that town. He made so fine 
an officer and was so well liked by his men that he became a 
captain. 

There was no company in the whole army that showed 
finer drill and discipline than Captain Haleys. When the 
term for wliich his men had enlisted had ended, he offered to 
give them all his own pay if they would reenlist. They did so, 
for they loved their brave captain and knew that he was not 
afraid of any danger. 

One night in the spring of 1776, Captain Hale picked out a 
number of his most daring men and rowed out in a boat to 
where a British vessel was anchored within a few yards of a 
powerful frigate. Climbing quickly and silently upon the 
deck they took the whole crew prisoners, shut them in the 
hold, and then brought the vessel to the wharf without any 
one of the enemy suspecting what was going on. 

If you will study the history of your country, you will learn 
that the summer of 1776 was one of gloom and almost despair 
to the Americans. I have told you how everything seemed to 
go wrong with the patriots until Washington made his bril¬ 
liant capture of the Hessians at the close of the year at Tren¬ 
ton. The Americans had suffered a bad defeat on Long Island 
in August, and only by a narrow chance did the main army 
manage to escape to Manhattan Island. The British forces 
were almost double in number and near at hand, eager to at¬ 
tack the Americans, while a fleet of their warships were in 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 49 

New York Bay. It was a sad time, indeed, and had any one 
but Washington been at the head of the patriot army, it 
would have been captured. 

As it was, Washington felt that he must find out in some 
way what the enemy meant to do, how many troops it had 
and how they were placed. There was only one way of get¬ 
ting this knowledge, and that was by sending a spy into the 
British lines. 

You may know that the most dangerous thing a soldier can 
do is to act as a spy. While he keeps on his uniform and 
fights in the ranks, if he has the bad fortune to be made a 
prisoner, his life is in no danger. He may be kept for a good 
while, but no civilized nation ever harms a prisoner who has 
been captured in a fair fight. 

But it is different with a spy. He does not wear his uniform, 
but pretends to belong to the enemy’s side, or at least is 
friendly to it. He tries to move about and learn all he can, 
and then he waits for a chance to slip away and take the 
news to his own commander. You can see how valuable such 
knowledge is, for it may give his friends the chance to win a 
great victory. So it is that spies are looked upon as so dan¬ 
gerous, that if they are caught, they are always hanged or 
shot. Major Andre, a British spy, was captured within our 
lines and hanged. All nations follow that course. 

You will understand from this that a man must be very 
brave to play the spy. He must be cool and cautious, for he 
knows that if he is found out, nothing can save hun from the 
most disgraceful of deaths. 

A large number of men in Washington’s army were asked 
to go into the British lines, but every one of them said no — 
the risk was too great. At last, when it looked as if no one 
could be persuaded, the matter was named to Captain Hale. 

I ’ll go,” he said promptly; I will take any risk for Wash¬ 
ington and my country; I am ready to start at once.” 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


SO 

Hale went before Washington and told him this. That 
great man looked admiringly upon the brave, handsome 
youth and reminded him of the dreadful danger which hung 
over him. 

^‘1 have thought of all that,’’ said Hale, with a smile, ‘^and 
am ready to receive my instructions from Your Excellency.” 

Washington had not many to give. He told Hale that he 
wished him to learn all he could about the number of troops 
under Howe, the British commander, where they were placed, 
and what that leader intended to do. As to how the young 
olBScer was to learn this, he must settle for himself. 

Bidding good-bye to Washington, who took his hand and 
gave him his best wishes. Captain Hale dressed himself up as 
a school-teacher. He could do that very well, for, as you 
know, he had been a teacher. It was at Norwalk that he made 
this change, leaving his uniform there, while he put on a 
brown suit and a broad-brimmed hat. Then he went aboard 
of a sloop late at night, and was landed at Great Neck Point 
on Huntingdon Bay. He stayed all day and night with a 
farmer, who was his friend, and the next day boldly walked 
into the enemy’s lines. 

I wish I could tell you all that Captain Hale, disguised as a 
Quaker school-teacher, did in the next two weeks, but no¬ 
body has ever been able to find out. He spent the whole time 
with the enemy and must have played his part well, for no 
one suspected him. He went from place to place, talked with 
soldiers and officers, studied the plans of the British general, 
and did not think of leaving until he had learned all that he 
wanted. He did not trust his memory, but put it down on 
paper, which he let no one see. 

It is known that he visited all the British encampments 
near Brooklyn, and that he passed the enemy’s lines twice. 

Finally, at the end of two weeks, he felt that he knew all 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 51 

that was necessary. It was most valuable information, and 
would be of great help to Washington, who was anxiously 
waiting for his return. Still no one suspected the sober, 
silent Quaker schoolmaster, and he crossed over from New 
York to Brooklyn, where he was still in the enemy’s lines. 
Cool, brave, and careful he made his way to Huntingdon. 

Captain Hale was now close to his friends. A little farther 
and he would be safe. There a boat was to come for him and 
take him across the water to the American lines, where his 
perils would be at an end. 

There was a little tavern at Huntingdon, into which he 
walked and sat down to wait until his comrades came for him. 
While he was there a man came in and looked closely at him. 
Hale did not notice him, and it is a great pity that he did not, 
for he was a Tory and a relative of Hale. He recognized the 
spy and, slipping out of the tavern, hurried with the news tp 
a British naval officer, whose vessel lay near by. 

Meanwhile, Hale, who was watching for the boat to come 
for him, thought he saw it approaching and walked down to 
the Point to meet it. With no thought of anything wrong, he 
took several steps out into the water to leap into the boat, 
but, as he was about to do so, the men suddenly leveled their 
guns and ordered him to surrender. Seeing he had been be¬ 
trayed, he turned again and started to run up the bank, but 
the soldiers called again to him to surrender. He looked 
around, and saw that he would be shot dead the next instant 
if he did not obey. So he turned about and again walked 
down the bank and stepped into the boat belonging to his 
enemies. He was rowed out to the ship Halifax and there 
searched. No papers were discovered about his clothing, but 
knowing how careful spies are to hide their secrets, the officer 
took off his shoes and pried the soles apart. There the docu¬ 
ments were found which proved Nathan Hale to be a spy. • 


52 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


The prisoner scorned to make any denial, and was taken to 
New York, where he was brought into the presence of Lord 
Howe, who examined the papers. 

‘‘Who are you?” asked the British general. 

“Captain Nathan Hale, of the Continental army,” was 
the prompt reply. 

“You have been within our lines seeking information?” 

“I have, sir.” 

“And you seem to have obtained it,” grimly added Howe, 
looking again at the papers. 

“Yes; I was quite successful, and am sorry that I could not 
place those in the hands of General Washington.” 

“No doubt; and you are aware also of the punishment 
which all nations visit upon spies?” 

The prisoner bowed his head, as he replied: - 

“I am, sir; and I do not ask for a court martial. I am ready 
for whatever you deem right to do with me.” 

Lord Howe could not help admiring this brave patriot, who, 
without any boasting in his manner, confessed he was a spy 
and asked for no mercy. He would have been glad to spare 
hun, but that could not be. He ordered him to be hanged the 
next morning, and turned him over to William Cunningham, 
who was Provost Marshal of the British army in New 
York. 

Captain Hale was led to the gallows the next morning and, 
turning to the bystanders, whose eyes were filled with tears, 
said: — 

“My only regret is that I have but one life to give to my 
country.” 

“Swing him off! swing off the rebel!” commanded Cun¬ 
ningham. 

And so one of the bravest and purest patriots that ever 
hved died the death of a martyr for his native land. 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 


53 


Another sad fact about the death of Hale is that to this 
day no one knows where his body was buried. How gladly 
we would raise a monument over his grave if we knew where 
to build it. It is thought that it was dug beneath the gallows, 
but it was never marked and the truth can never be known. 

The 25th of November, 1893, was crisp and cold. On that 
day thousands of people gathered in City Hall Park, New 
York, where a statue of Captain Nathan Hale was unveiled. 
It is an impressive figure, showing the martyr patriot with 
the thongs upon him, and with an expression of calm nobility 
and dauntless courage on his countenance. 

Edward S. Ellis 
THE TRUTH SPEAKER 

‘^One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Three 
more rows, and then I must knit the heel,” said Hetty Marvin 
to herself one bright summer day in the year 1777, as she 
sat knitting for the soldiers. 

War was going on in this country, for King George the Third 
had made laws for America which the people had thought 
very unjust, and they had refused to obey them. 

'‘1 was knitting these for Brother Jack,” said Hetty to her¬ 
self; “but I pity poor Cousin Griswold so much that mother 
says I may give them to him; that is, if I get them done before 
he goes away. Poor man! how he must feel, shut up in that 
little dark attic all the time, and expecting every minute to 
hear the British soldiers knocking at the door, and demanding 
entrance to search for Governor Griswold. Oh! I am glad I 
am not a Governor! If I were, I suppose the Redcoats would 
be after me; and then I should be hung or shot unless I 
promii^r^d to obey King George. But I would n’t promise any 
such thing, any more than Cousin Griswold would, — and 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


54 

he would die first! I wonder if my linen needs sprinkling 
again!” 

Putting down her knitting, she took a pail of water and 
began to sprinkle the linen which had been spread on the 
grass near her. She was startled to see a man leap over the 
fence, but in a moment recognized her Cousin Griswold. 

Hetty, I shall lose my life unless I get to the boat before 
the soldiers come. You see where the roads part, close by 
the orchard; I want you to run down towards the shore, and 
meet the soldiers who are sure to ask for me, and then you 
must tell them that I am gone up the road to meet the mail- 
cart, and they will turn off the other way.” 

‘‘But, cousin, how can I say so? It would not be true. Oh, 
why did you tell me which way you were going? ” 

“Would you betray me, Hetty, and see me put to death? 
Hark! they are coming. I hear the clink of the horses’ feet. 
Tell them I have gone up the road, and Heaven will bles^ 
you.” 

“Those who speak false words will never be happy. But 
they shall not make me tell which way you go, even if they 
kill me, — so run as fast as you can.” 

“It is too late to run! Where can I hide myself?” 

“Be quick, cousin! Come down, and lie under this cloth; 
I will throw it over you, and go on sprinkling the linen.” 

“I will come down, for it is my last chance,” said the man. 

Hetty quickly covered him with the folds of the long cloth 
and went on with her sprinkling. In a few minutes a com¬ 
pany of soldiers on horseback dashed into the yard. One of 
the officers called out to her, “Have you seen a man run by 
this way ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Which way did he go?” 

“I promised not to tell, sir.” 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 55 

‘‘But you must tell me this instant, or it will be worse for 
you.” 

“I will not tell, for I must keep my word.” 

“Let me speak, for I think I know the child. Is your name 
Hetty Marvin? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Perhaps the man who ran past you was your cousin?” 

“Yes, sir, he was.” 

“Well, we wish to speak with him. What did he say to you 
when he came by?” 

“He told me that he had to run to save his life.” 

“Just so; that was quite true. I hope he will not have far 
to run. Where was he going to hide himself ? ” 

“My cousin said that he would go to the river to find a 
boat, and he wanted me to tell the men in search of him that 
he had gone the other way to meet the mail-cart.” 

“You are a good girl, Hetty, and we know you speak truth. 
What did your cousin say when he heard that you could not 
tell a lie to save his life?” 

“He said, ‘Would you betray me and see me put to death? ^ ” 

“And you said you would not tell if you were killed for it? ” 

“Yes, sir,” she cried, as her tears fell fast. 

“Those were brave words; and I suppose he thanked you, 
and ran down the road as fast as he could?” 

“I promised not to tell which way he went, sir.” 

“Oh, yes, I forgot; but tell me his last words, and I will not 
trouble you any more.” 

“He said, ‘I will come down, for it is my last chance.’ ” 

Hetty was now very much frightened, and cried aloud as 
she hid her face in her apron. The soldiers thought they had 
all they wanted and rode off to the riverside. 

While Griswold had been in hiding in the attic he had 
agreed to signal his boatmen, if he needed help, by hanging a 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


56 

white cloth in the window if it was daytime or a lantern if it 
was at night. They were to be on the watch and ready to 
help in case of need. 

As soon as the soldiers rode away, his friends hung out a 
white cloth to warn the boatmen and they pulled away from 
the shore as they saw the red coats of the British. 

By the time the soldiers reached the shore the boat was 
almost out of sight and this made them think that Griswold 
had escaped. 

Hetty, who had been watching, came towards where he 
lay under the cloth, clapping her hands. 

“Safe! Safe!” cried Griswold, '‘and all through you, my 
brave Hetty! Now go in and get your supper, and when it is 
dark, put a light in the attic window. My men will see it and 
come back in the boat for me, and I shall get beyond the 
reach of the Redcoats.” 

“ Come with me and have something to eat, cousin,” 
said Hetty. “I will watch and tell you if any one comes.” 

“No, Hetty, I must not do that; I will stay here. When it 
is quite dark, bring me my little bundle of clothing and some¬ 
thing to eat. I shall quietly make my way down to the boat 
when I hear the oars.” 

“Well, good-bye, cousin,” said the brave little girl. 

“Good-bye, Hetty! If all our soldiers were as brave and 
true as you are, we should not have to fight many years 
before we should say in truth, AMERICA IS FREE! ” 

Needless to say, the little girl did as she was told. The 
signal was seen, and Griswold soon reached a place of safety. 

When the war was over, he named his first child Hetty 
Marvin, so that he might have always before him the name 
of the brave little cousin whose truth-speaking had saved 
his life. 


Sarah Crompton {Adapted) 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 


57 


A WINTER AT VALLEY FORGE 
(1777-1778) 

During the Revolution the British had the idea that it 
would be a great thing if they could take Philadelphia. They 
called it the “rebel capital,” because Congress had met there; 
and they did not seem to realize that Congress could easily 
meet somewhere else. They marched into the city with colors 
flying and bands playing, and Washington could not prevent 
them. When they were once in, the best thing for him to do 
was to see that they did not get out or do any mischief; and so 
he chose for his winter quarters Valley Forge, a place only a 
few miles from Philadelphia. There he could easily defend 
himself if he was attacked, and he could keep close watch of 
the British. 

It would have been easier to fight many battles than to 
spend that winter in Valley Forge. It was December, and 
there was no shelter of any kind. Men and officers set to work 
bravely to build huts for themselves. These huts were of all 
sorts. Some were built of heavy logs. Their roofs were made 
of small trees wrapped with straw and laid side by side. Clay 
was laid on top of the straw, and splints were laid on top of 
that. The windows were simply holes cut through the logs 
and covered with oiled paper. 

A house like this was looked upon as the height of luxury. 
Most of the huts were made of sods piled up, or fence rails or 
poles held together by twigs twisted in and out and daubed 
with clay. The snow sifted in at every little opening, the 
rain dripped through even the best of the roofs, and the wind 
howled and roared and blew in at every crevice. There were 
few blankets, and many brave defenders of their country lay 
on the frozen ground because they had not even straw to put 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


58 

under them. Sometimes they sat up all night, crowding up ! 
to the fires to keep from freezing. 

They were no better off for clothing than for houses. The ; 
whole army was in rags, which the soldiers^ most skillful j 
mending could hardly hold together. Many of the men had 
no shirts, even more were without shoes. Wherever they 
walked, the snow was marked with blood. Some cut strips 
from their precious blankets, and wound them about their 
feet to protect them from the frozen ground. Food was 
scanty; sometimes for several days they were without meat, ^ 
and some companies were once without bread for three days. 
When the word went around, “No meat to-night,” the sol¬ 
diers groaned, but they never yielded. 

The cause of these hardships was the fact that Congress had 
no power. It could say to a State, “We need money for the 
army, and your share will be so much”; but if the State did 
not choose to pay the tax. Congress could not force it to 
pay. It is said that while these brave soldiers were suffer¬ 
ing in their rags, whole hogsheads of clothes and shoes and 
stockings were waiting at different places on the roads until 
money to pay for teaming could be found. Sometimes the 
soldiers themselves took the places of horses and oxen, and 
when they could learn of any supplies, dragged the wagons 
into camp. 1 

Washington shared all this suffering with his men, and he 
had even more to bear from fault-finders. The Pennsylvania 
Legislature thought he ought not to shelter his men in huts 
at Valley Forge. “Why does n’t he camp out in tents in the 
open field,” they demanded, “and attack the British?” This 
was too much for even Washington’s patience, and he wrote 
a blunt letter to the Legislature, telling them how httle they 
were doing for the army. He said it was much easier to find 
fault “in a comfortable room by a good fireside than to camp 



STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 59 

upon a cold, bleak hill and sleep under frost and snow without 
clothes or blankets.’’ 

Not all the soldiers were Americans by any means. Some of 
them were foreigners who had come to America to get what 
they could out of the country; but there were also many who 
came because they believed that the United States was in the 
right, and they wanted to help her win her independence. 
One of these true friends was a young Frenchman, the Mar¬ 
quis de Lafayette. For some time the Americans had been 
trying to persuade France to help them, but Lafayette could 
not bear to wait for his country to act. ^‘The moment I heard 
of America, I loved her,” he wrote. He fitted out a ship at 
his own cost and crossed the ocean. Then he asked two 
‘‘favors” of Congress — to serve as a volunteer, and to pay 
his own expenses. Congress made him an officer, although he 
was only nineteen. He won the heart of the commander-in¬ 
chief at their first meeting, and from that day Washington 
trusted him as he trusted few people. Lafayette was rich, 
a nobleman, and a favorite at the French court. He had 
lived in luxury all his days; but he shared with Washington 
the hard life at Valley Forge, never complaining, always 
bright and cheerful. All this time he was writing letters home, 
which did much to bring about something that delighted 
Washington and “the boy,” as the British scornfully called 
Lafayette. Word came across the sea that the French king 
had decided to help America. Then there was rejoicing at 
gloomy Valley Forge. A day of thanksgiving was appointed. 
Prayer was offered, the troops were reviewed, thirteen cannon 
were fired, and at a signal the whole army shouted, “Long 
live the king of France!” 

The French Government had asked many questions about 
the American army. The answer was always the same: “They 
are brave and patient and determined, but they lack drill and 


6o 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


discipline. They are splendid fighters, but they need to be 
taught how to fight together.” There was a Prussian officer, 
Baron von Steuben, who was better prepared than any one 
else to teach what the army ought to know, and the French 
persuaded him to cross the ocean. 

The baron was amazed when he went to Valley Forge and 
saw the miserable little huts and the starving, half-naked men. 

There is not a commander in Europe who could keep troops 
together a week if they were suffering like this,” he declared. 
There was hardly any artillery and almost no cavalry. Many 
of the guns were not fit to use. Few of them had bayonets. 
That was a small matter, however, for the soldiers did not 
know what to do with bayonets, and had used them chiefly 
to broil meat with — when they were so fortunate as to have 
any meat. Baron von Steuben was horrified. He drilled and 
drilled. One minute he stormed at the ignorance of the men, 
and the next he praised their quickness in learning some diffi¬ 
cult movement. Then at their next blunder he stormed again 
in a comical mixture of German and French and English. In 
spite of his scoldings, however, he was devoted to the men 
and exceedingly proud of them. During that cruel winter 
many fell ill, and the hot-tempered baron went about from 
one wretched hut to another, doing everything that he could 
to help and cheer them. It is no wonder that they loved him 
and were eager to learn. 

The terrible winter at Valley Forge came to an end at last. 
Out of the cold and hunger and sickness and suffering an 
army came forth that was stronger than before, an army that 
was never beaten in a fair fight,” 


Em March Tap pan 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 6i 


MOLLY PITCHER 

June 28, 1778 

All day the great guns barked and roared; 

All day the big balls screeched and soared; 

All day, mid the sweating gunners grim, 

Who toiled in their smoke-shroud dense and dim, 
Sweet Molly labored with courage high. 

With steady hand and watchful eye, 

^Til the day was ours, and the sinking sun 
Looked down on the field of Monmouth won, 
And Molly standing beside her gun. 

Now, Molly, rest your weary arm! 

Safe, Molly, all is safe from harm. 

Now, woman, bow your aching head, 

And weep in sorrow o’er your dead! 

Next day on that field so hardly won. 

Stately and calm stands Washington, 

And looks where our gallant Greene doth lead 
A figure clad in motley weed — 

A soldier’s cap and a soldier’s coat 
Masking a woman’s petticoat. 

He greets our Molly in kindly wise; 

He bids her raise her tearful eyes; 

And now he hails her before them all 
Comrade and soldier, whate’er befall, 

‘^And since she has played a man’s full part, 

A man’s reward for her loyal heart! 

And Sergeant Molly Pitcher’s name 
Be writ henceforth on the shield of fame!” 


62 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Oh, Molly, with your eyes so blue! 

Oh, Molly, Molly, here’s to you! 

Sweet honor’s roll will e’er be richer 
To hold the name of Molly Pitcher. 

Laura E. Richards 


LAFAYETTE 

It is night in Philadelphia. In spite of their worries the 
members of Congress are in bed. Quiet is over all, and the 
only sound that breaks the stillness is the lagging footsteps 
of the drowsy watchman going his rounds. ‘‘One o’clock, and 
all is well!” he cries. “Two o’clock, and all is well!” 

The minutes wear on. Then his ear catches a distant sound. 
He listens. Muffled at first, it grows nearer and nearer, louder 
and louder. It is the even hoof-beats of a horse ridden at full 
speed. The rider comes in sight. “What news?” shouts the 
watchman. What news, indeed! 

His steps no longer lag. The tones of his voice are jubilant 
now, as he shouts from house to house: “Past three o’clock, 
and Cornwallis has surrendered! Past three o’clock, and 
Cornwallis has surrendered!” 

Let bells peal! Let cannon boom! Speed the good tidings 
from man to man, from town to town, from colony to colony! 
Let all America know and rejoice that victory is ours! 

Not many days behind the bearer of the glorious news, 
another man journeys from Yorktown to Philadelphia. He 
is young, tall, and slender. He is the French Marquis de 
Lafayette. 

Four years before, at the very time when our future looked 
the darkest, Lafayette came to America a boy of nineteen and 
offered Congress his services without pay. Loyally and well 
he has played his part in the Revolution. Now the hour of 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 63 

victory is come. America no longer needs his help, and his 
heart yearns for France. Congress gladly gives him leave to 
go. So journeying to Boston, he sails back to France, back 
to his young wife; back to all the luxury, position, and honor 
due his rank and wealth at home. All these he left behind to 
take up arms in the cause of a stranger people’s liberty; and 
to all these he returns, while that people exults in its triumph 
over oppression. 

Years go by. The United States of America adopts a con¬ 
stitution, sets up a government, and takes her place among 
the nations of the earth. Meanwhile, the Marquis de La¬ 
fayette passes through fortune and misfortune at home. Often 
his thoughts turn back to America and the countless friends 
his ready sympathy and generous ways won for him there. 

In 1824 a welcome invitation comes. The United States 
bids him once more to her shores, this time as the guest of the 
American Nation. 

In the man she greets again in this year of 1824, America 
still sees the youth who paid from his own purse for that first 
ship that brought him to take up arms against her foe. She 
has not forgotten how he used his wealth in her behalf; how 
the starving, ragged troops of Washington’s army were fed, 
warmed, and clothed at his expense. She has not forgotten 
his gallant behavior at Monmouth. 

It was at Monmouth that Lafayette was given a trusted 
command. Washington sent him ahead in charge of the de¬ 
tachment that was to attack the British. But no sooner was 
he well away than Lee claimed the right to lead the advance 
and, overtaking Lafayette, deprived him of the command. 
Though bitterly disappointed, Lafayette accepted the condi¬ 
tions without complaint and fought his best under Lee’s ill- 
starred orders. 

Then did he not also have a hand in the final victory? He 


64 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


led Cornwallis a chase through Virginia until, reinforced, he 
was able to turn the tables, follow the enemy to Yorktown, 
and keep him there while Washington marched south. 

The forty-odd years since the surrender of Cornwallis have 
in no way dimmed America’s gratitude to the French Mar¬ 
quis, and she rejoices in his return. In August he reaches 
Staten Island and spends the night there. The next day, 
gayly decorated ships come to escort him to New York. 
There he is welcomed by booming cannon, and cheering 
thousands follow his four-horse carriage through the streets. 

For over a year Lafayette stays in America. He travels 
through New England, through New York, to Philadelphia, 
to Washington, where the President welcomes him to the 
White House. He goes to Mount Vernon, although Washing¬ 
ton, his revered friend, has long since died. He visits York¬ 
town and the South. He goes even to New Orleans and as¬ 
cends the Mississippi River and the Ohio. What a difference 
between the thirteen struggling colonies and this fast growing 
nation! Can it be that one lifetime compasses it all? 

Everywhere crowds line the roads to greet him. Every¬ 
where he passes under arches raised in his honor, while each 
town and city vies in the length of its processions and the 
brilliancy of its balls and dinners. September, 1825, finds 
Lafayette in Washington, where he receives from Congress 
the gift of two hundred thousand dollars and two large tracts 
of land. 

His visit is now near its end. The new ship Brandywine 
waits to carry him to France. And Lafayette sails down Ches¬ 
apeake Bay while a grateful nation bids her guest God-speed. 

Gertrude V, Southworth 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 65 


VERSES ON LAFAYETTE 

Lafayette’s sixty-eighth birthday was celebrated at the White 
House, September 6, 1825, and he sailed next day for France, 
where he died May 20,1834. The verses by Dolly Madison which 
follow were only recently discovered. 

Born, nurtured, wedded, prized, within the pale 
Of peers and princes, high in camp — at court — 

He hears, in joyous youth, a wild report, 

Swelling the murmurs of the Western gale, 

Of a young people struggling to be free! 

Straight quitting all, across the wave he flies, 

Aids with his sword, wealth, blood, the high emprize! 
And shares the glories of its victory. 

Then comes for fifty years a high romance 
Of toils, reverses, sufferings, in the cause 
Of man and justice, liberty and France, 

Crowned, at the last, with hope and wide applause. 
Champion of Freedom! Well thy race was run! 

All time shall hail thee, Europe^s noblest Son! 

Dolly Madison 

THE STORY OF OUR FLAG ^ 

The history of our flag is of very great interest, and brings 
to memory many sacred and thrilling associations. The ban¬ 
ner of St. Andrew was blue, charged with a white saltier or 
cross, in the form of the letter X. It was used in Scotland as 
early as the eleventh century. The banner of St. George was 
white, charged with a red cross; and it was used in England 
as early as the first part of the fourteenth century. By a royal 
proclamation, dated April 22, 1700, two crosses were joined 
together upon the same banner. 

^ Used by permission of the publishers, Scott, Foresman, and Company. 
Copyright, 1913. 


66 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


This ancient banner of England suggested the basis of our 
own flag. Other flags had been used at different times by our 
colonial ancestors, but they were not associated with, or made 
a part of, the “Stars and Stripes.’’ 

It was after Washington had taken command of the Revo¬ 
lutionary army at Cambridge, in 1776, that he unfolded be¬ 
fore them the flag of thirteen stripes of alternate red and white, 
having upon one of its corners the red and white crosses of 
St. George and St. Andrew on a field of blue. This was the 
standard which was borne into Boston when it was evacuated 
by the British troops and was entered by the American army. 

Uniting, as it did, the flags of England and America, it 
showed that the colonists had not yet decided to sever the tie 
that bound them to the mother country. By that union of 
flags it was signified that the colonies were still a substantial 
part of the British Empire, and that they demanded the 
rights which such a relation implied. On the other hand, the 
thirteen stripes represented the union of the thirteen colonies; 
the white stripes indicated the purity of their cause, the red 
declared their defiance of cruelty and persecution. 

On the 14th of June, 1777, it was resolved by Congress, 
“That the flag of the thirteen United States be thirteen 
stripes, alternate red and white, and that the union be thir¬ 
teen white stars in a blue field.” This resolution was made 
public in September, 1777, and the flag that was first made 
and used in pursuance of it was that which led the Americans 
to victory at Saratoga. The stars were arranged in a circle, 
in order, perhaps, to express the equality of the States. 

In 1794, there having been two more new States added to 
the Union, it was voted that the alternate stripes, as well as 
the stars, be fifteen in number. The flag thus altered and en¬ 
larged was the banner borne through all the contests of the 
War of 1812. It was observed, however, that if a new stripe 


STORIES OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 67 

should be added with every freshly admitted State, the flag 
would at length become inconveniently large. In 1818, there¬ 
fore, Congress enacted that a permanent return should be 
made to the original number of thirteen stripes, and that the 
number of stars should be increased to correspond with the 
number of States. 

Thus the flag might symbolize the Union as it might be at 
any given period of its history, and also as it was at the time 
of its birth. It was at the same time suggested that the stars, 
instead of being arranged in a circle, be formed into a single 
star — a suggestion which was occasionally adopted. At the 
present time it is sufiicient if all the stars are there upon that 
azure field -— the blue to be emblematical of perseverance, 
vigilance, and justice, and each star to signify the glory of 
the State it may represent. 

What precious associations cluster around our flag! 

Where has it not gone, the pride of its friends and the terror 
of its foes? What countries and what seas has it not visited? 
Where has not the American citizen been able to stand be¬ 
neath its guardian folds and defy the world? With what joy 
and exultation seamen and travelers have gazed upon its 
stars and stripes, read in it the history of their nation’s glory, 
and drawn from it the inspirations of patriotism! 

Alfred P. Putnam 

BETSY’S BATTLE FLAG 

From dusk till dawn the livelong night 
She kept the tallow dips alight. 

And fast her nimble fingers flew 
To sew the stars upon the blue. 

With weary eyes and aching head 
She stitched the stripes of white and red. 


68 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


And when the day came up the stair 
Complete across a carven chair 
Hung Betsy’s battle flag. 

Like shadows in the evening gray 
The Continentals filed away, 

With broken boots and ragged coats, 
But hoarse defiance in their throats; 
They bore the marks of want and cold. 
And some were lame and some were old, 
And some with wounds untended bled. 
But floating bravely overhead 
Was Betsy’s battle flag. 

When fell the battle’s leaden rain. 

The soldier hushed his moans of pain 
And raised his dying head to see 
King George’s troopers turn and flee. 
Their charging column reeled and broke, 
And vanished in the rolling smoke. 
Before the glory of the stars. 

The snowy stripes, and scarlet bars 
Of Betsy’s battle flag. 

The simple stone of Betsy Ross 
Is covered now with mold and moss. 

But still her deathless banner flies. 

And keeps the color of the skies. 

A nation thrills, a nation bleeds, 

A nation follows where it leads. 

And every man is proud to yield 
His life upon a crimson field 
For Betsy’s battle flag! 


Minna Irving 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


DANIEL BOONE, THE KENTUCKY PIONEER 

In the year 1735, in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, a little 
boy was born who was destined to become the greatest of 
American pioneers. His name was Daniel Boone. 

His parents were very poor, and he grew up without 
knowledge of books. His special delight was to wander in 
the woods, and most of his time was spent in hunting and 
fishing. This wild life trained him for his future career as 
fearless hunter and woodsman. 

When he was thirteen years old his people took him to a 
new home in North Carolina, on the banks of the Yadkin 
River, where he grew to manhood. 

From his home he could see the line of the Alleghany 
Mountains and used to gaze at them longingly, wondering 
what sort of country lay on the other side. 

At last this restlessness grew to great desire, and he, with 
six other woodsmen, started into the wilderness. For weeks 
they traveled through tangled woods, over mountains and 
streams, until at last, arriving at the summit of a high hill, 
the whole region, now known as Kentucky, lay before them. 

Here they built a rude shelter of logs and spent their time 
in hunting and exploring. 

After two years in this wilderness, he returned to his home 
on the Yadkin to make preparations for removal. Many be¬ 
came enthusiastic over his reports of the fertile country, and 
by the time he was ready for his departure, there were, be¬ 
sides his wife and five children, five families and forty men, 
with suf&cient horses and cattle. They were attacked on the 


70 ’ STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 

way by Indians, and the party, becoming discouraged, re¬ 
turned to the nearest settlement. 

Boone was unflinching in his purpose to settle in Ken¬ 
tucky, and some time afterward he was sent in charge of 
thirty men to open a road over Cumberland Gap to the Ken¬ 
tucky River. Many thousands of settlers afterwards found 
their way over this place, which is still known as the ‘‘Wil¬ 
derness Road.” 

On reaching the Kentucky River they built a fort, which 
they named Boonesborough. He then returned to North 
Carolina for his family, and arrived with them some months 
later. 

! Many were the hardships these settlers endured, and 
many interesting stories are told of Boone’s escapes from the 
Indians. 

At one time he was captured and taken to Detroit, where 
the English offered five hundred dollars for his ransom. The 
Indians admired him so much that they refused to let him 
go, but adopted him into their tribe. He was dressed in real 
Indian fashion in war-paint and feathers. He lived with 
them for several months, until he heard them planning an 
attack upon Boonesborough, when he made his escape, and 
after traveling for days through the tangled woods, he reached 
the fort and warned the settlers. 

This was only one of his many escapes and adventures, 
but from all he came out safely. 

Many people began to come to Kentucky. They cut down 
the trees; they built houses and towns, and established large 
farms. Boone had never lost his love for the wilderness, so 
with his family he went in search of woods, finding them at 
last in what is now known as the State of Missouri. 

Here he lived, in the midst of the things he loved, until 
his death, which occurred in 1820. 



HOW OUR NATION GREW 


71 


He was the leader in the early pioneer life of Kentucky, 
and but for him the settlement of this part of the country 
could not have been made for many years. 

Norma H. Doming 


HAIL, COLUMBIA 

In the summer of 1798, Congress was in session in Philadelphia. 
England and France were at war. The people of the United States 
were divided, some wishing to take the part of England, some that 
of France. War seemed inevitable. 

Just about this time Joseph Hopkinson, a young lawyer, was 
asked to write a song to the tune of the Presidents March for a 
friend of his who was to make his first public appearance on the 
stage in Philadelphia. He knew that if he could get words for this 
popular air that his success would be assured. 

The song. Hail Columbia, was read for him the next morning, 
and night after night, the theater was crowded to overflowing. 
It was also sung in the streets by crowds of citizens. 

Besides doing this for his friend, Mr. Hopkinson had another 
object in view when he wrote the words. He wished a song that 
would find favor with both parties, and to arouse an American 
spirit that would be above the petty dislikes and interests. His 
object was secured, and every American responded to it. 

Hail, Columbia! happy land, 

Hail, ye heroes, heav’n-born band. 

Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause. 

Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause. 

And when the storm of war was gone. 

Enjoyed the peace your valor won. 

Let independence be our boast. 

Ever mindful what it cost; 

Ever grateful for the prize. 

Let its altar reach the skies. 


72 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Chorus — 

Firm, united, let us be, 

Rallying round our liberty; 

As a band of brothers joined, 

Peace and safety we shall find. 

Immortal patriots! rise once more; 

Defend your rights, defend your shore; 

Let no rude foe, with impious hand, 

Let no rude foe, with impious hand. 

Invade the shrine where sacred lies 
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize. 

While off’ring peace, sincere and just, 

In Heav’n we place a manly trust. 

That truth and justice will prevail. 

And ev’ry scheme of bondage fail. 

Behold the chief who now commands. 

Once more to serve his country, stands — 

The rock on which the storm will beat. 

The rock on which the storm will beat; 

But, armed in virtue firm and true. 

His hopes are fixed on Heav’n and you. 

When hope was sinking in dismay. 

And glooms obscured Columbia’s day. 

His steady mind, from changes free. 

Resolved on death or liberty. 

Joseph Hopkinson 

LEWIS AND CLARK, THE PATHFINDERS 

Some twenty years after the Revolution France sold to the 
United States the country between the Mississippi and the 
Rocky Mountains. The Government asked Meriwether 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


73 


Lewis and William Clark, brother of George Rogers Clark, 
to explore it. They were to follow up the Missouri, then the 
Columbia River, and so get to the Pacific Ocean; but no one 
knew where the sources of the two rivers might be. There 
were forty men or more in the party as well as the wife of the 
interpreter and her baby, the youngest of American explorers. 
They were to draw maps, note the soils, vegetation, animals, 
and minerals, and, most important of all, make friends with 
the Indians, learn what lands each tribe claimed, and open 
the way for trading with them. 

Then they set out on a journey which proved to be two 
years and four months long. And such wonders as they saw! 
There were waterfalls so high that the water fell part way, 
then broke into mist, but gathered together again and made 
a second fall which seemed to come from a cloud. There were 
long marches over plains where the thorns of the prickly pear 
pierced their shoes as if they were only paper. 

Sometimes they were driven half wild with clouds of mos¬ 
quitoes. ^^The Musquetoes were so numerous that I could 
not keep them off my gun long enough to take sight and 
by that means missed,” wrote Captain Clark in his journal. 
Captain Lewis once was separated from his men for a few 
hours, and in that time he met a grizzly bear, a wolverine, 
and three buffalo bulls, all of which showed fight. Again, he 
lay down under a tree, and when he woke he found that he 
had had a big rattlesnake for next-door neighbor. One night 
the company camped on a sand-bar in the river; but they 
were hardly sound asleep before the guards cried, “Get up! 
Get up! Sand-bar’s a-sinking! ” They jumped into the boats 
and pulled for the farther shore. Before they reached it the 
sand-bar was out of sight. Another night a buffalo dashed 
into their camp, and to cap the climax, the baby explorer 
had the mumps and was cutting teeth and cried all night. 


74 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Getting food was not always easy. At one place they ex¬ 
changed their meat and meal for watermelons; but frequently 
they had nothing but a little flour or meal; for a long while 
they Hved on horseflesh and dogflesh, and eatable roots 
bought of the Indians. 

They tried to make friends with the Indians by giving them 
mirrors, gilt-braided coats, knives, etc., and they told them 
about the Great Father in Washington who wished them to 
be his children. Talking was often difficult, so whenever it 
was possible they used the language of signs. When a man 
wished to say, ^‘I have been gone three nights,” he had only 
to rest his head on his hand to suggest sleep and to hold up 
three fingers. To hold a blanket by two corners and shake it 
over the head and unfold it meant, ‘‘I am your friend, come 
and sit on my blanket.” If the Indian accepted the invita¬ 
tion he would wish to embrace the white man, and rub his 
own cheek, thick with paint, on that of his friend. 

So it was that the brave explorers made their way to the 
source of the Missouri. Three quarters of a mile farther they 
came to one of the branches of the Columbia. Onward they 
went, and at last they stood on the shore of the Pacific. It 
was the rainy season; their clothes and bedding were always 
wet and they had nothing to eat but dried fish. Captain 
Clark wrote in his journal that the ocean was “tempestuous 
and horrible.” 

There were the same dangers to go through again on the 
long journey back, but finally they came to the houses of 
white men; and when they caught sight of cows feeding on 
the banks of the river, they all shouted with joy, the herds 
looked so calm and restful and homelike. 

These courageous, patient men had done much more than 
to explore a wild country. Just as Columbus had made a path 
across the Atlantic, so they had made a path to the Pacific. 

Eva March Tappan 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


75 


THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY 


ACT I 


Time — 1807; an afternoon in autumn. 

P/ace — Officers’ room at Fort Massac, on the Mississippi 
River, near New Orleans. 


Lieutenant Philip Nolan 
Aaron Burr 
General Morgan 
A Captain 
A Sergeant 
A Corporal 


An Aide 
Cynthia Nolan 
Florence Morgan 
First Girl 
Second Girl 
Third Girl 


Ofpicers and Soldiers 


Several young Officers are seen talking together 
Enter the Captain 

Captain. Where is Nolan? 

Sergeant. Oh, you can easily guess that, captain! 

Captain. With Burr again, I suppose? 

Corporal. Burr has taken him down the river in his flat- 
boat. 

Captain. I can’t understand that! Nolan is only a lieu¬ 
tenant. Why did n’t Burr invite the General? 

Sergeant. That’s what we want to know. 

Captain. Aaron Burr has been in New Orleans two weeks. 
He has been giving dinners, luncheons, excursions on the 
river, hunts up the bayou. Oh, you know all about it? Yes, 
the papers have been full of it! And who has been invited to 
everything? The General? 

All. No! 

Captain. We officers? 

All. No! No! 

Captain. No one but Nolan! Nolan every time! 

Corporal {looking of). Sh! Here’s Nolan now! 


76 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Enter Philip Nolan, a dashing young fellow, manly and 
sincere 

Nolan {saluting). Officers! Officers! Officers! 

All {coldly). Lieutenant! 

Nolan. Never had such a splendid time in my life! IVe 
been down the river with Mr. Burr, you know. {Silence.) 
Mr. Burr is the greatest man I ever knew! Why, New 
Orleans is going wild over him! 

Sergeant. You seem to think the whole world is wild over 
him. 

Nolan. It would be if it knew him as I do. 

Captain. Since you are so intimate with him, suppose you 
tell us what he is here for. 

Nolan. I don’t know anything about Mr. Burr’s private 
affairs. 

Captain. Well then, I’ll tell you. They say he is trying to 
found an independent western empire, and put himself in as 
king or emperor, or something of that sort. 

Nolan. I don’t believe it! Aaron Burr was a loyal soldier! 
He is a loyal citizen! 

Corporal. If he is so loyal, what is he doing with an army 
back of him? 

Nolan. Do they say that, too? 

All. Of course! 

Nolan. It isn’t true! I don’t believe one word of it! 
Have n’t I been with him every day since he arrived? I’ve 
heard nothing about an army or an empire. 

Enter an Aide 

Aide. Mr. Burr is asking for you, Lieutenant Nolan. 

Nolan. Mr. Burr! Show him in! 


{Exit Aide.) 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


77 


Captain. Come on, boys! The Emperor will want his pet 
alone. {Exit all hut Nolan.) 

Enter Aaron Burr 

Nolan. Mr. Burr! I am delighted! I did nT expect to see 
you so soon again, sir! 

Burr. I have come to say good-bye, Philip. 

Nolan. Good-bye? 

Burr. I have just received important dispatches. I must 
go at once. My flat-boat is at the landing, now. 

Nolan. I appreciate your coming. Kmowing you has been 
the greatest thing in my life, Mr. Burr! 

Burr. I have made no secret of my affection for you, 
Philip. 

Nolan. I do not feel worthy of it, sir. 

Burr. You are unconscious of your abilities, my boy. You 
will make a great man if only you have a chance. 

Nolan. A chance! Why, sir, I am the youngest officer in 
the service! DonT you count that a good beginning? 

Burr. It will take you nowhere — lead to nothing. 

Nolan. Lead to nothing — I don’t understand — 

Burr. I would speak plainly, Philip, but in strictest con¬ 
fidence. 

Nolan. Your words are sacred to me, sir. 

Burr. You have the qualities of a leader, Philip, and you 
should be out in the world of men where you would be ap¬ 
preciated. You may spend your life in the service and die 
unknown. 

Philip. But I will have served my country, sir. 

Burr. There are two sides to that question, my boy. Sup¬ 
pose we walk outside. I have things of great importance to 
say to you; here, we may be overheard. 

Nolan. Come tliis way, sir. {They go) 


78 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Enter General Morgan with an Aide 

General. Ask the Captain to come. 

Aide. Yes, General. 

(Exit, The General walks up and down anxiously) 
Enter the Captain 

General. Captain, I have just received dispatches from 
Washington concerning Aaron Burr. He is suspected of 
treason to his country. 

Captain. Treason! 

General. We are asked to watch him closely. See to it. 
Captain; have some one near him constantly. And when he 
leaves, you may yourself accompany him to New Orleans 
on one pretext or another. 

Captain. His arrest has not been ordered. General? 

General. No, but I am expecting that, any minute. The 
President is incensed with him. Report his every move at 
once. 

Captain. I will watch him myself. General. (Exit) 

Enter Florence Morgan, a girl of seventeen 

Florence. Father, just one moment, please! Some of my 
girl friends have come out from New Orleans and would like 
to see the fort. 

General. Are you sure they are not spies sent by some 
enemy? 

Florence. Father! Why, one of them is Lieutenant No¬ 
lan’s sister! She is visiting down here from the North. 

General {laughing. Show them everything, Florence. Or, 
if you will wait a moment, I will show them around myself. 

Florence. Oh, that is spendid, father! We’ll wait for you. 

(^Exit General to his office) 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


79 


Enter Cynthia Nolan and three other Girls 

It’s all right, girls! You are to see everything! We are to 
wait for father here. 

Cynthia. I wish Mr. Burr would go, so that Philip could 
join us. 

First Girl {looking of). They are coming here — Mr. 
Burr and your brother, Cynthia. 

Cynthia. Let’s hide until Mr. Burr has gone. Then we ’ll 
all rush out on Phil. 

Girls. Yes! Yes! {They hide in room.) 

Enter Burr and Nolan. The Captain is seen walking up and 
down outside 

Nolan. And that’s the way they treated you, sir! 

Burr. Yes, Philip. After years of service in the war, I was 
cut off without even so much as a thank you. 

Nolan. It’s a disgrace to the country! 

Burr. Do you blame me for my bitterness? 

Nolan. Blame you? Never, sir! I blame a service that 
would treat you so! And I blame a country that would have 
such a service! 

{The Captain pauses hy the window, listening.) 

Burr. I wish that you would leave it, Philip. 

Nolan. I’d like to, sir! Your wrongs have made me hate 
the army, and almost hate the Government. 

Burr. If you could come tome, I ’dmake a great man of you, 
Philip. I have certain plans for the future; plans I cannot tell 
you now. But any day I may send for you. Will you come? 

Nolan. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, sir! 

Burr. I’ll count on you, then! And now, my boy, good¬ 
bye! You’ll hear from me soon. Good-bye! 

{Exit. Philip follows to door and waves his cap. The 
Girls come forward, as the Captain enters) 


8 o 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Enter the General from his office^ followed by the other Officers 

Captain. Burr has just gone to his flat-boat, General. 

{Nolan comes forward) 

General. Follow and take him prisoner! We have orders 
now for his arrest. Take a squad with you, Captain. Burras 
flat-boat is well manned and armed, I hear. {Exit Captain) 

Nolan. Aaron Burr — under arrest! 

General. You were with him constantly, and perhaps 
aided him in his treachery. So, Lieutenant Nolan, I hereby 
order you under arrest. Sergeant, take the prisoner’s arms. 
A court-martial will be held at once. {Nolan gives up his 
arms) Ofiicers, retire and prepare to open court. Sergeant, 
take in the prisoner. 

{Exit Officers to adjoining room. The Sergeant follows 
with Nolan) 

The Captain enters 

Well, Captain? 

Captain. We were just in time. General. I put a strong 
guard over him on his boat. 

General. That is well. Come—a court-martial is in ses¬ 
sion. {Exit General and Captain to adjoining room) 

Cynthia {sobbing). Philip was always so proud of being a 
soldier! That Aaron Burr is the cause of this! 

Florence. I believe that, too, Cynthia. 

Cynthia. He’s turned Phil’s head completely. 

Florence. I think father realizes that, but I’m sorry he 
said he hated the army and wished he were out of it. 

Cynthia. Oh, I’m sure Phil didn’t mean that! He was 
excited — anyway, the General did n’t hear him. 

Florence. No, but the Captain did. 

Cynthia. It will kill mother if anything happens to Phil. 

{She weeps. Florence comforts her. The other Girls 
speak aside.) 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


8 i 


First Girl. I’m afraid it will go hard with Phil. 

Second Girl. General Morgan is a stern old patriot. 

Third Girl. They say he hates a traitor as much as he 
loves the flag. 

Enter the Sergeant with Nolan and a guard of Soldiers 
Door to adjoining room is left open 

Nolan {angrily). Why does n’t he believe me! I told him 
I did n’t know Burr’s plans. Might as well have talked to a 
stone! That’s your United States! {The General enters from 
the adjoining room. Hearing Nolan, he pauses on the threshold.) 
That for the United States! {Snapping fingers.) I wish I 
might never hear of the United States again! 

Cynthia. Philip! 

General {from open door). Those are strong words, 
Lieutenant. {He reenters inner room, closing door.) 

Nolan {defiantly). I’d like to cudgel that Captain and the 
rest of them too, except the General. Every word I ever said 
in jest was brought up against me. They’re all jealous of me 
— I’ve thought that a long time. If Burr had paid them 
any attention — 

Cynthia. Oh, but, Philip, if only you hadn’t said you 
hated the army and wished — 

Nolan. I did n’t really mean that, Cynthia. I was just 
indignant over Burr’s wrongs. 

Enter General Morgan and Officers 

General. Philip Nolan, hear the sentence of the Court! 
The Court decides, subject to the approval of the President, 
that you never hear the name United States again. The rest 
of your life will be spent on shipboard. You will never be 
allowed to land, nor to see nor to hear any news from or of 
your country. You are henceforth a man without a country. 
You may bid your friends farewell. 


82 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Nolan. Say good-bye to mother for me, little sister. 

Cynthia {clinging to him). Philip! My brother! My 
brother! 

General. Sergeant, take the prisoner to the naval com¬ 
mander at Orleans. Make my respects to Lieutenant Mitchell 
at Orleans, and request him to order that no one shall men¬ 
tion the United States to the prisoner while he is on board 
ship, pending the action of the President. 

{^The Sergeant touches Nolan on the shoulder, Nolan 
turns to go with him.) 

Cynthia. Philip! 


ACT II 

Time — ten years later. 

Place — on board the Levant, off the Windward Islands 


Philip Nolan 
Captain Shaw 
Julius Pons 
First Officer 
Second Officer 
Third Officer 
Fourth Officer 
Fifth Officer 

Officers, 


First Midshipman 
Second Midshipman 
Third Midshipman 
Fourth Midshipman 
Fifth Midshipman 
Sixth Midshipman 
Seventh Midshipman 
Eighth Midshipman 
Midshipmen 


Same eight Midshipmen are seen on deck, looking out over the sea 

First Midshipman. It’s the Warren, boys! 

Second Midshipman. She’s outward bound — for a cruise 
of the Mediterranean, I say! 

Third Midshipman. She’s casting anchor! That means 
mail from home, boys! 

Fourth Midshipman {calling). Mail, Middies! Mail from 
home! 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


83 


Enter Julius Pons and other Midshipmen from all 
parts of ship 

All. Mail! Mail! Hurrah! 

Fifth Midshipman. They’re sending off the boat, now! 

Sixth Midshipman. It’s piled up high with mail bags! 

Seventh Midshipman. It’s our Christmas mail, boys! 

Eighth Midshipman. Aye! our Christmas mail, and 
presents! 

All. Hurrah! Hurrah! 

First Midshipman. That makes it bad for our mess. You 
know Plain Buttons dines with us to-day. 

Second Midshipman. Let’s see — the Captain had him 
Monday; Mess A had him Tuesday: Mess B, Wednesday — 
yes, it’s our turn to-day. 

Third Midshipman. Well, that means we can’t talk about 
our letters from the States. 

Fourth Midshipman. Or home, or the folks. 

Fifth Midshipman. I’d just as soon be dead as not talk 
about the home folks when the Christmas letters come. 

Sixth Midshipman. Sh! Here comes Plain Buttons! 

Enter Nolan, sad and dejected 

Nolan. Good-morning, boys. {The Midshipmen salute him 
with respect) I thought I heard some hurrahs. What is the 
excitement? 

{Pause. The Boys look at each other in embarrass¬ 
ment) 

Julius. Our — our — it’s our mail from — from the War¬ 
ren, Mr. Nolan. 

Nolan. Ah! {Pause) 

Seventh Midshipman. Fine weather, sir. 

Nolan. Very. 


84 STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 

Eighth Midshipman. I think we shall have fog to-night, 
sir. 

Nolan. I should not be surprised. {Pause) 


Enter the First Officer with mail 

Officer {giving letters and packages). Simpson! Tanner! 
Wilson! E. Smith! Hunt! Brown! J. Smith! F. Smith! 
Here — and here — and here — 

{Gives mail to every one except Nolan and goes. The 
Boys open letters and packages) 

First Midshipman {showing a red silk handkerchief). Look 
what mother sent me, boys! 

Second Midshipman. Just look at this pincushion! Mo¬ 
ther made it for me! 

Fourth Midshipman. Look at these socks, will you! 
Father sent them! 

First Midshipman. Here’s a tidy for my rocking-chair! 
Midshipman. Rocking-chair! Ha, ha! 

First Midshipman. My grandmother made it! She saw 
Aaron Burr’s flat-boat once. Guess she thinks a man-of-war 
is like that. Bless her dear old heart! 

Julius. What became of Aaron Burr, anyway? 

{Nolan rises, showing excitement) 
First Midshipman. Why, don’t you know? He was tried 
for treason and — 

Second Midshipman {indicating Nolan). Sh! 

First Midshipman. Oh! Ah — ah — fine day, Mr. Nolan. 
Nolan. Very. 

Third Midshipman. I think we shall have fog to-night, 
sir. 

Nolan. I should not be surprised. 

{Nolan is left alone. The others talk aside) 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


85 


Julius. What did become of Burr? 

First Midshipman. He was cleared — got off scot free. 

Julius. And poor Nolan there has n’t been allowed to even 
hear anything about his home for ten years! It’s a shame! 
I say he did n’t really mean those words when he said 
them. 

First Midshipman. Of course he did n’t. I’ve seen him 
kiss the flag when he thought no one was looking. 

Julius. You have! {He crosses to Nolan.) I say, Mr. 
Nolan, here’s a fine shell I found yesterday. 

Nolan. It is a rare specimen, Julius. 

Julius. It’s for your Christmas, sir. 

Nolan. Thank you, Julius, thank you. Wouldn’t you 
like me to help you with your mathematics, Julius? 

Julius. Indeed I should, sir! 

Nolan. Come to my stateroom whenever you can — to¬ 
day, if you wish. 

Julius. But perhaps you’ll be exchanged, sir. The War¬ 
ren is outward-bound. 

Nolan. I have been exchanged seven times these last ten 
years, Julius. I have reason to believe there will be no more 
of that. I am on my homeward voyage, my boy. I’m sure 
of it! 

Julius. Of course you’ll be glad, sir. 

Nolan. Glad! Would you be glad, youngster, if you 
had n’t heard one word from home for ten years? Listen, 
my boy! — if you are ever tempted to say a word or do a 
thing that might put a bar between you and your family, your 
home, and your country, pray God in His mercy to take life 
from you. Think of your home, boy, and write and talk 
about it. And no matter what happens to you, no matter 
who flatters or abuses you, never look at another flag. Re¬ 
member, boy, that behind officers and government there is a 


86 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Country herself — your Country, and that you belong to her 
as you belong to your own mother. And stand by her, boy, 
as you would stand by your mother! 

Julius. I will, sir! I will! {They talk aside) 

Enter several officers 

Second Midshipman {to Second Offiicer), I^d like to speak 
with you, sir. 

Second Officer. What^s the trouble, Johnston? 

Second Midshipman. You see this book, sir? It’s my 
Christmas present from home, sir. 

Second Officer. Ah, yes — The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
That’s by Mr. Scott. 

Second Midshipman. Might I ask Mr. Nolan to read it 
aloud, sir? He often reads to us, sir. 

Second Officer. I wonder if there is anything in it about 
home? I can’t remember a line of it. {To other Officers) 
What about letting Nolan read this to the men? Do any of 
you know the poem? 

Third Officer. It’s all magic and chivalry and happened 
ten thousand years ago. I don’t see how there could be any¬ 
thing in it about the United States. 

Fourth Officer. There could n’t be! 

Fifth Officer. It’s all right — go ahead! 

Second Officer. Mr. Nolan, will you not read aloud to 
us? It is always a pleasure to hear you. 

Nolan. I shall be pleased. But I have never read this 
poem before — I fear I shall do it badly. 

Second Midshipman. Oh, that’s all right, sir! You might 
just read parts from it here and there. 

Nolan. Then I’ll open the book by chance. 

{Taking hook and opening it in middle^ he reads 
aloud) 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


87 


Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, 

Who never to himself hath said, 

This is my own, my native land? 

{Nolan chokesj and pauses a moment. The Officers 
and Men show embarrassment. Nolan proceeds 
with trembling voice.) 

Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned, 

As home his footsteps he hath turned 
From wandering on a foreign strand? 

If such there breathe, go, mark him well; 

For him no minstrel raptures swell — 

{Nolan stops with a sob then throws the book into the 
sea.) 


Enter the Captain 

Captain. Ah, Nolan, I was looking for you. 

Nolan. Yes, Captain. 

Captain. The Warren has brought a letter concerning 
you, Mr. Nolan. {He pauses.) 

Nolan. Yes, sir? 

Captain. Your transfer, Mr. Nolan. 

Nolan. Transfer! — Again? 

Captain. You are to be changed to the Warren, which is 
outward-bound for a two years’ cruise. You will please get 
ready at once. I am sorry, Philip. 

{He grasps Nolands hand and turns away to hide his 
emotion) 

Nolan {going). God pity me! 


88 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


ACT III 

Time — ten years later. 

Place — on board the Levant, Bay of Naples. 

Philip Nolan 

Captain Shaw Julius Pons 

Commodore Porter Mrs. Graff 

American Ladies, American Officers, English Officers, 
Musicians. 

{In various groups on deck are seen the Ladies and Officers.) 

Enter Julius Pons, now an officer 

Julius. Shall I have the musicians come up now. Captain? 

Captain. I am waiting for the Mission’s officers. You 
sent them an invitation, did you not? 

Julius. As soon as she had anchored. 

Enter an Officer 

Officer. Captain, the officers of the Mission have just 
arrived, and with them is Philip Nolan. 

Captain. Nolan! 

Officer. Nolan. The Mission is homeward-bound, so 
Nolan is transferred to us. 

Captain. I’ll be glad to see him, but it’s going to be awk¬ 
ward to have him here to-night. I am afraid our guests may 
give him intelligence of home. 

Officer. Is he to be kept apart from them. Captain? 

Captain. I dislike doing that; it would pain him. And 
yet, he must not mingle with them. Our orders are very 
strict on that point. 

Julius. We officers can talk with him in a friendly way, 
taking it turn about till the guests have gone. 

Captain. It might be managed in that way without hurt¬ 
ing him. 



HOW OUR NATION GREW 


89 


Enter Nolan with several Officers 

Welcome! Welcome! I’m glad to see you, Philip. It seems 
just yesterday you left us. 

Nolan. Ten years ago this Christmas, Captain! 

Captain. Well, gentlemen, I call this downright luck that 
we should all meet for Christmas again. There is an English 
ship in port; her officers are our guests to-night. The ladies 
are Americans who happen to be visiting now in Naples. 

{The Officers join the group.) 

Julius. Have you forgotten me, Mr. Nolan? 

Nolan. What! Julius? Little Julius an officer? 

Captain. An officer and a fine one. And I have some one 
else aboard you will be pleased to meet — Commodore Por¬ 
ter. You were on his ship during that naval battle. 

Nolan. Yes, Captain. 

Captain. We heard of your bravery, Nolan, and we were 
proud of you. Here comes the Commodore now to speak 
with you. 

Enter Commodore Porter 

Commodore. Nolan! This is an unexpected pleasure! 

{They shake hands. The Captain goes!) 

Nolan. Any ship may be my home. Commodore. 

Commodore. Well, it shall not be so always, Philip. I 
have myself written to the Secretary of War, asking for your 
pardon. 

Nolan. Commodore! 

Commodore. We could never have won that battle without 
you. The odds were all against us. It was your courage that 
inspired the men. I said so, too, in my dispatches. And I 
told them that I gave you my own sword as an honor that 
was due you. Where is that sword, Nolan? Why are you not 
wearing it? 


90 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Nolan. I feel I have no right to a sword now, Commodore. 

Commodore. Wear that sword, Nolan. No officer has a 
better right. 

Nolan. Do you expect to hear from Washington soon? 

Commodore. By any mail, and I fully expect your pardon. 

Nolan. I hope for it! Ah, how I hope for it! {Ladies 
and Officers approach. Nolan faces Mrs. Graff. Julius tries 
to step between them, hut is too late.) Miss Morgan! I hope 
you have not forgotten me! 

Mrs. Graff. I am now Mrs. Graff, Mr. Nolan. 

Nolan. Pardon me, what do you hear from — from home? 

{Pause.) 

Mrs. Graff. Home! I thought you were the man who 
never wanted to hear of home again! 

{She turns away. There is an awkward pause.) 

Enter the Captain 

Captain. You speak Portuguese, don’t you, Nolan? 

Nolan. A little, Captain. 

Captain. The officer below would like you to interpret for i 
him, if you will. 

Nolan. I ’ll do my best. {He goes.) | 

Captain {to all). We have several slaves below; rescued ; 
them from a rascally schooner yesterday. And now they are 
making a great fuss, no one knows what about. We can’t 
understand them, and they can’t understand us. I think 
Nolan can quiet them. 

Enter the Musicians; they prepare to play. Enter Nolan. 

Well, Philip? What do they say? 

Nolan. They say they can never get home from Cape 
Palmas, where you are taking them; it is too far away — as 
far as Rio Janeiro. They say, “Take us home, take us to our 



HOW OUR NATION GREW 


91 


own country, take us to our own houses, to our pickaninnies 
and wives One says he has an old father and mother who 
will die if they do not see him. Another says he has not heard 
a word of his wife and children for six months. And all of 
them are begging on their knees to be taken to their homes. 

{Nolan breaks down and covers his face with his hands. 
All are deeply affected.) 

Captain. Tell them yes, yes, yes! Tell them they shall 
go to the moon if they will! Tell them they shall go home — 
every one of them! 

{Nolan goes. The women are weeping. The men wipe 
the tears from their eyes.) 

Nolan reenters 

Mrs. Graff. Philip, I want to answer you now. 

Captain. No, Mrs. Graff! Remember our orders! 

Mrs. Graff. Ah, but I will! Philip, your mother is dead. 

{Nolan hows his head. Pause) 

Nolan. And — and my sister? 

Mrs. Graff. Praying hourly for your return. 

Enter an Officer with a letter 

Officer. Dispatches from Washington, Commodore! 

{Commodore reads letter) 

Commodore {with hesitation). This concerns you, Nolan — 
It’s an answer to my request for your freedom. {He pauses) 

Nolan. What is it? Speak, I pray you! 

Commodore. The Department refuses to pardon you, Philip. 

Nolan {faintly). Refuses — 

Captain. It is cruel! 

Nolan. Nay, it is justice. {He kisses the flag) 

Edward Everett Hale 
Dramatized by Augusta Stevenson 


92 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


COLUMBIA, THE GEM OF THE OCEAN 

There has been much dispute about the authorship of the song, 
“Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean.” Some musical critics have 
even claimed that it is of English origin. 

As the song is one of our great national songs, its history should 
be correctly written. In 1876 one of the Admirals of the United 
States Navy received a letter from Mr. Thomas a Becket, which 
showed that the words and music were composed by himself, al¬ 
though the idea originated with David T. Shaw. The letter is as 
follows: — 

“In the fall of 1843, being then engaged at the Chestnut Street 
Theatre in this city, I was waited upon by Mr. D. T. Shaw with 
the request that I would write him a song for his benefit night. 
He produced some patriotic lines, but I found them ungrammati¬ 
cal, and so deficient in measure as to be totally unfit to be adapted 
to music. We adjourned to the house of a friend and there I wrote 
the first verse in pencil and composed the melody on the piano. 
On reaching home I added the third verse, wrote the symphonies 
and arrangements, made a fair copy, and gave it to Mr. Shaw, re¬ 
questing him not to sell or give a copy. A few weeks later I left for 
New Orleans, and was much surprised to see a published copy, 
entitled ‘Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean,’ written, composed, | 
and sung by David T. Shaw, and arranged by T. a Becket, Esq. 
On my return to Philadelphia, I waited upon Mr. Willig, the 
publisher, who told me that he had purchased the song from Mr. 
Shaw. I produced the original copy in pencil, and claimed th^ 
copyright, which Mr. Willig admitted. I then made arrangements 
witlx Mr. T. Osborn to publish the song in partnership, and within ' 
a week it appeared under its proper title ‘ Columbia, the Gem of 
the Ocean,’ written and composed by T. a Becket, and sung by 
D. T. Shaw.” 

0 Columbia! the gem of the ocean. 

The home of the brave and the free. 

The shrine of each patriot’s devotion, 

A world offers homage to thee; 

Thy mandates make heroes assemble, 

When Liberty’s form stands in view; 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


93 


Thy banners make tyranny tremble, 

When borne by the red, white, and blue. 

When borne by the red, white, and blue. 

When borne by the red, white, and blue; 

Thy banners make tyranny tremble, 

When borne by the red, white, and blue. 

When war winged its wide desolation. 

And threatened the land to deform. 

The ark then of freedom’s foundation, 

Columbia rode safe through the storm. 

With her garlands of vict’ry around her. 

When so proudly she bore her brave crew; 

With her flag proudly floating before her. 

The boast of the red, white, and blue! 

The boast of the red, white, and blue! 

The boast of the red, white, and blue! 

With her flag proudly floating before her, 

The boast of the red, white, and blue! 

The star-spangled banner bring hither. 

O’er Columbia’s true sons let it wave. 

May the wreaths they have won never wither, 

Nor its stars cease to shine on the brave. 

May the service united ne’er sever. 

But hold to their colors so true; 

The army and navy forever. 

Three cheers for the red, white, and blue! 

Three cheers for the red, white, and blue! 

Three cheers for the red, white, and blue! 

The army and navy forever. 

Three cheers for the red, white, and blue! 

Thomas d Bechet 


94 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


LINCOLN, THE YOUNG MAN ' 

None of our presidents, excepting Washington, has been so 
greatly loved or so highly honored as Lincoln. The two men 
were very different. Washington was rich and had strong friends; 
Lincoln was poor and had to depend entirely upon himself; but 
both were strong, self-reliant, always ready to overcome danger 
and trouble, and determined to succeed in everything they 
undertook. 

Abraham Lincoln was born on the 12 th of February, 1809, in a 
tumble-down log cabin in the country, about fifty miles south of 
Louisville, Kentucky. His father was an easy-going sort of person 
who could neither read nor write, and who never seemed able to 
take care of his family. His mother was a fine woman, and all that 
Abraham Lincoln afterwards became, he used to say he owed to 
her teaching. But the rough life which she had to lead was too 
hard for her, and she died when ^‘Abe” was only nine years old. 
The family had then moved from Kentucky to Indiana and were 
living in a shanty in the woods. 

After the mother’s death they were for a time desolate, indeed, 
but the father at length married again, and the second Mrs. Lin¬ 
coln, who was a strong and able woman, put the home in order 
once more and took good care of the children. It was at about this 
time that our story begins. 

I. LINCOLN’S FIRST READING 

Squire Josiah Crawford was seated on the porch of his 
house in Gentryville, Indiana, one spring afternoon when a 
small boy called to see him. The Squire was a testy old man, 
not very fond of boys, and he glanced up over his book, im¬ 
patient and annoyed at the interruption. 

^‘What do you want here?’' he demanded. 

The boy had pulled off his raccoon-skin cap and stood 
holding it in his hand while he eyed the old man. 

''They say down at the store, sir,” said the boy, "that you 
1 From Historic Boyhoods. Copyright, George W. Jacobs & Co. 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 95 

have a Life of George Washington. I’d like mighty well to 
read it.” 

The Squire peered closer at his visitor, surprised out of his 
annoyance at the words. He looked the boy over, carefully 
examining his long, lank figure, his tangled mass of black 
hair, his deep-set eyes, and large mouth. He was evidently 
from some poor country family. His clothes were home¬ 
made, and the trousers were shrunk until they barely reached 
below his knees. 

What’s your name, boy?” asked the Squire. 

Abe Lincoln, son of Tom Lincoln, down on Pigeon Creek.” 

The Squire said to himself: “It must be that Tom Lincoln 
who, folks say, is a ne’er-do-well and moves from place to 
place every year because he can’t make his farm support 
him.” Then he said aloud to the boy, “What do you want 
with my Life of Washington ?” 

“I’ve been learning about him at school, and like to 
know more.” 

The old man studied the boy in silence for some moments; 
something about the lad seemed to attract him. Finally he 
said, “ Can I trust you to take good care of the book if I lend 
it to you? ” 

“As good care,” said the boy, “as if it was made of gold, 
if you’d only please let me have it for a week.” 

His eyes were so eager that the old man could not with¬ 
stand them. “Wait here a minute,” he said, and went into 
the house. When he returned he brought the coveted volume 
with him, and handed it to the boy. “There it is,” said he; 
“I’m going to let you have it, but be sure it does n’t come 
to harm down on Pigeon Creek.” 

The boy, with the precious volume tucked tightly under 
his arm, went down the single street of Gentryville with the 
joy of anticipation in his face. He could hardly wait to open 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM? 


96 

the book and plunge into it. He stopped for a moment at the 
village store to buy some calico his stepmother had ordered 
and then struck into the road through the woods that led to 
his home. 

The house which he found at the end of his trail was a very 
primitive one. The first home Tom Lincoln had built on the 
Creek when he moved there from Kentucky had been merely 
a ^‘pole-shack” — four poles driven into the ground with 
forked ends at the top, other poles laid crosswise in the forks, 
and a roof of poles built on this square. There had been no 
chimney, only an open place for a window and another for a 
door, and strips of bark and patches of clay to keep the rain 
out. The new house was a little better; it had an attic, and 
the first floor was divided into several rooms. It was very 
simple, however; only a big log cabin. 

The boy came out of the woods, crossed the clearing about 
the house, and went in at the door. His stepmother was sit¬ 
ting at the window sewing. He held up the volume for her to 
see. “IVe got it!” he cried. “It’s the Life of Washinglofij 
and now I’m going to learn all about him.” He had barely 
time to put the book in the woman’s hands before his father’s 
voice was heard calling him out of doors. There was work 
to be done on the farm; the rest of that afternoon Abe was 
kept busily employed, and as soon as supper was finished his 
father set him to work mending harness. 

At dawn the next day the boy was up and out in the fields, 
the Life of Washington in one pocket, the other pocket filled 
with corn dodgers. Unfortunately he could not read and run 
a straight furrow. When it was noontime he sat under a tree, 
munching the cakes, and plunged into the first chapter of the 
book. For half an hour he read and ate, then he had to go on 
with his work until sundown. When he got home he ate his 
supper standing up, so that he could read the book by the 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


97 


candle that stood on the shelf. After supper he lay in front 
of the fire, still reading and forgetting everything about 
him. 

Gradually the fire burned out, the family went to bed, and 
young Abe was obliged to go up to his room in the attic. He 
put the book on a ledge on the wall close to the head of his 
bed, so that nothing might happen to it. During the night a 
violent storm rose, and the rain came through a chink in the 
log walls. When the boy woke he found that the book was a 
mass of wet paper, the type blurred, and the cover beyond 
repair. He was heart-broken at the discovery. He could 
imagine how angry the old Squire would be when he saw the 
state of the book. Nevertheless, he determined to go to Gen- 
tryville at the earliest opportunity and see what he could do 
to make amends. 

The next Sunday morning found a small boy standing on 
the Squire’s porch with the remains of the book in his hand. 
When the Squire learned what had happened, he spoke his 
mind freely. He said that Abe did not know how to take care 
of valuable property, and promised never to lend him another 
book as long as he lived. The boy faced the music, and when 
the angry tirade was over, said that he should like to shuck 
corn for the Squire and in that way pay him the value of the 
ruined volume. Mr. Crawford accepted the offer and named 
a price far greater than any possible value of the book; and 
Abe set to work, spending all his spare time in the next two 
weeks shucking the corn and working as chore boy. So he 
finally succeeded in paying for the ruined Life of Washington. 

This was only one of many adventures that befell Abraham 
Lincoln while he was trying to get an education. His mother 
had taught him to read and write, and ever since he had 
learned he had longed for books to read. 

One day he said to his cousin Dennis Hanks, “Denny, the 


98 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


things I want to know are in books. My best friend is the 
man who will get me one.” 

Dennis was very fond of his younger cousin, and as soon as 
he could save up the money he went to town and bought a 
copy of The Arabian Nights. He gave this to Abe, and the 
latter at once started to read it aloud by the wood fire in the 
evenings. His mother, his sister Sally, and Dennis were his 
audience. When he came to the story of Sindbad the Sailor, 
Abe laughed. 

Dennis, however, could not see the humor. '^Why, Abe,” 
said he, “that yarn’s just a lie.” 

“Perhaps so,” answered the small boy, “but if it is, it’s a 
mighty good lie.” 

As a matter of fact Abe had very few books. His earliest 
possessions consisted of less than half a dozen volumes — a 
pioneer’s library. First of all was the Bible, a whole library 
in itself, containing every sort of literature. Second was Pil¬ 
grim^ s Progress, with its quaint characters and vivid scenes 
told in simple English. AE^sop^s Fables was a third, and intro¬ 
duced the log-cabin boy to a wonderful range of characters — 
the gods of mythology, the different classes of mankind, and 
every animal under the sun; and fourth was a history of the 
United States, in which there was the charm of truth, and 
from which Abe learned valuable lessons of patriotism. 

He read these books over and over, till he knew them by 
heart. He would sit in the twilight and read a dictionary as 
long as he could see. He could not afford to waste paper upon 
original compositions; so as he sat by the fire at night he 
would cover the wooden shovel with essays and arithmetical 
problems, which he would shave off and then begin again. 

The few books he was able to get made the keen-witted 
country boy anxious to find people who could answer his 
questions for him. In those days many men — clergymen, 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


99 


judges, and lawyers — rode on circuit, stopping overnight 
at any farmhouse they might happen upon. When such a 
man would ride up to the Lincoln clearing, he was usually 
met by a small boy who would begin to fire questions at him 
before he could dismount from his horse. 

n. WHAT LINCOLN LEARNED IN THE WILDERNESS 

In that day Indiana was still part of the wilderness. Pri¬ 
meval woods stood close to Pigeon Creek, and not far away 
were roving bands of Sacs and Sioux, and also wild ani¬ 
mals — bears, wildcats, and lynxes. The settlers fought the 
Indians, and made use of the wild creatures for clothing 
and food. The children spent practically all their time out 
of doors, and young Abe Lincoln learned the habits of the 
wild creatures and explored the far recesses of the woods. 

From his life in the woods the boy became very fond of 
animals. One day some of the boys were teasing a turtle. Abe 
rescued the turtle, and when he got a chance wrote a compo¬ 
sition in school about cruel jokes on animals. It was a good 
paper, and the teacher had the boy read it before the class. 
All the boys liked Abe, and they took to heart what he had 
to say in the matter. 

It was a rough sort of life that the children of the early set¬ 
tlers led, and the chances were all in favor of the Lincoln 
boy’s growing up to be like his father, a kind-hearted, igno¬ 
rant, ne’er-do-well type of man. His mother, however, who 
came of a good Virginia family, had done her best to give him 
some ambition. Once she had said to him: “Abe, learn all 
you can, and grow up to be of some account. You’ve got just 
as good Virginia blood in you as George Washington had.” 
Abe did not forget that. 

Soon after the family moved to Pigeon Creek his mother 
di^d; and a little later a stepmother took her place. This 


lOO 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


woman soon learned that the boy was not the ordinary type, 
and kept encouraging him to make something of himself. She 
was always ready to listen when he read, to help him with 
his lessons, to cheer him. When he got too old to wear his 
bearskin suit, she told him that if he would earn enough 
money to get some muslin, she would make him some white 
shirts. Abe earned the money, and Mrs. Lincoln purchased 
the cloth and made the shirts. After that Abe cut quite a 
figure in Gentryville. He liked people and knew so many good 
stories that he was always popular with a crowd. 

Small things showed the ability that was in the raw country 
lad. When he was only fourteen a copy of Henry Clay’s 
speeches fell into his hands. He learned most of them by 
heart, and what he learned from them interested him in his¬ 
tory. Then, a little later, when his stepmother was ill for 
some time, Abe went to church every Sunday and on his re¬ 
turn repeated the sermon almost word for word to her. Again, 
he loved to argue, and would take up some question he had 
asked of a stranger and go on with it when the latter returned 
to the Creek, perhaps months after the first visit. Mrs. Lin¬ 
coln noted these things and made up her mind that her step¬ 
son would be a great lawyer some day, because, as she said, 
“When Abe got started arguing, the other fellow’d pretty 
soon say he had enough.” 

Probably at this time Abe was more noted for his love of 
learning new things and for his great natural strength than for 
anything else. It took him a long time to learn, but when he 
had once acquired anything it stayed by him. The books he 
had read he knew from cover to cover, and the words he had 
learned to spell at the school “spelling-bees” he never forgot. 
Now and again he tried his hand at writing short composi¬ 
tions, usually on subjects he had read of in books. These 
little essays were always to the point and showed that the 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


lOI 


boy knew what he was discussing. One or two of these papers 
got into the hands of a local newspaper and appeared in 
print, much to Abe’s surprise and to his stepmother’s delight. 

Yet, after all, these qualities were not the ones which won 
him greatest admiration in the rough country life. The boys 
and young men admired his great size and strength, for when 
he was only nineteen he had reached his full growth and stood 
six feet four inches tall, while countless stories were current 
about his feats of strength. 

At one time, it was said, young Abe Lincoln was seen to 
pick up a chicken coop weighing six hundred pounds. At an¬ 
other time Abe happened to come upon some men who were 
building a contrivance for lifting some heavy posts from the 
ground. He stepped up to them and said, ‘‘Let me have a 
try,” and in a few minutes he had shouldered the posts and 
carried them where they were wanted. As a rail-splitter he 
had no equal. A man for whom he worked told his father that 
Abe could sink his axe deeper into the wood than any man 
he ever saw. 

This great strength was a very valuable gift in such a com¬ 
munity as that of Gentryville, and people respected him for 
it even more than for his learning and his kindness of heart. 

A little later he lived in a village in Illinois, named New 
Salem, and there he found a crowd of boys called the “ Clary’s 
Grove Boys,” who were noted for the rough handling they 
gave to strangers. Many a new boy had been hardly dealt 
with at their hands. Sometimes they would lead him into a 
fight and then beat him black and blue, and sometimes they 
would nail the stranger into a hogshead and roll him down a 
steep hill. 

When Abe Lincoln first came to the town they were afraid 
to tackle him, but when their friends taunted the crowd of 
young roughs with being afraid of Lincoln’s strength, they 


102 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


decided to lay a trap for him. The leader of the gang was a 
very good wrestler, and he seized an opportunity when all 
the men of the town were gathered at the country store to 
challenge Abe to a wrestling-match. Abe was not at all anxious 
to accept the challenge, but was finally driven to it by the 
taunts the gang threw at him. A ring was made in the road 
outside the store, and Abe and the bully set to. 

The leader of the gang, however, found that he could not 
handle this tall young stranger so easily as he had handled 
other youths. He gave a signal for help. Thereupon the 
rest of the roughs swarmed about the two wrestlers, and by 
kicking at Abe’s legs and trying to trip him they nearly suc¬ 
ceeded in bringing him to the ground. When Abe saw how 
set they were on downing him, his blood rose, and suddenly 
putting forth his whole strength, he seized his opponent in 
his arms and very nearly choked the life out of him. 

For a moment it looked as though the rest of the crowd 
would set upon Lincoln and that he would have to fight the 
lot of them single-handed. He sprang back against a wall and 
called to them to come on. But he looked so able to take care 
of any number that they faltered, and in a moment their first 
fury gave place to an honest admiration for Lincoln’s nerve. 
That ended his initiation, and as long as he stayed in New 
Salem the “Clary’s Grove Boys” were his devoted followers. 

The leader of the gang, whom Abe had nearly throttled, 
became his sworn friend, and this bond lasted through life. 
When other men threatened Abe or spoke against him in any 
way, this youth was always first to stand up for him, and 
acted as his champion many times. Curiously enough, in 
after years, when Abe had become a lawyer, he defended his 
old opponent’s son when the young man was on trial for his 
life, and succeeded in saving him. 

Such an adventure as this with the “Clary’s Grove Boys” 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


103 


was typical of the way in which Abe, as he grew up, came to 
acquire a very definite position in the community. In one 
way and another he gained the reputation which the boys 
gave him of being not only the strongest, but also ^Hhe clever¬ 
est fellow that ever broke into the settlement.’^ 

Lincoln served as a clerk in a store at the town of New 
Salem, and there he began at odd moments to study law. A 
little later he knew enough law to become an attorney, and 
went to Springfield, and after that it was only a short time 
before he had won his clients. His cousin Dennis came to 
hear him try one of his first cases. Dennis watched the tall, 
lank young fellow, still as ungainly as in his early boyhood, 
and heard him tell the jury some of those same stories he had 
read aloud before the fire. 

When Abe had finished, his cousin said to him, ^‘Why did 
you tell those people so many stories?” 

“Why, Denny,” said Abe, “a story teaches a lesson. God 
tells truths in parables; they are easier for common folks to 
understand and recollect.” 

Such was the simple boyhood of Abraham Lincoln, but its 
very simplicity, and the hardships he had to overcome to get 
an education, made him a strong man. He knew people, and 
later, when he came to be President and to guide the country 
through the greatest trial in its history, it was those same 
qualities of perseverance and courage and trust in the people 
that made the simple-minded man the great hehnsman of 
the Republic. 

Lincoln was elected President just before the Civil War — 
that is, the war between the North and the South. He did 
not want war and tried hard to prevent it, but it could not 
be stopped. One of his important acts as President was the 
freeing of the slaves. 

At the close of the war, as he was sitting one evening in a 


104 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


theater in Washington with his wife and two friends, listening 
to the play, he was shot from behind by a man who is now 
believed to have been insane. All the nation, the South as 
well as the North, was filled with sorrow and indignation. 
Never had a great American been more deeply mourned by 
the whole people. 

Rupert Sargent Holland 

THE SOLDIER^S REPRIEVE 

‘^I THOUGHT, Mr. Allan, when I gave my Bennie to his 
country, that not a father in all this broad land made so 
precious a gift — no, not one. The dear boy only slept a 
minute — just one little minute, at his post; I know that was 
all, for Bennie never dozed over a duty. How prompt and 
reliable he was! I know he fell asleep only one little second — 
he was so young, and not strong, that boy of mine! Why, he 
was as tall as I, and only eighteen! And now they shoot him 
because he was found asleep when doing sentinel duty! 
Twenty^four hours, the telegram said — only twenty-four 
hours! Where is Bennie now?’^ 

‘‘We will hope with his heavenly Father,” said Mr. Allan, 
soothingly. “Yes, yes, let us hope; God is very merciful!” 

“‘I should be ashamed, father!’ Bennie said, Vhen I am 
a man, to think that I never used this great right arm’ — 
and he held it out so proudly before me — ^ for my country 
when it needed it! Palsy it rather than keep it at the plow!’ 
* Go, then—go, my boy,’ I said, ‘ and God keep you! ’ God has 
kept him, I think, Mr. Allan!” And the farmer repeated 
these last words slowly, as if, in spite of his reason, his heart 
doubted him. 

“Like the apple of His eye, Mr. Owen; doubt it not.” 

Blossom sat near them, listening with blanched cheek. 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


loS 

She had not shed a tear. Her anxiety had been so concealed 
that no one noticed it. She had occupied herself mechanically 
in the household cares. Now she answered a gentle tap at the 
kitchen door, opening it to receive from a neighbor’s hand a 
letter. ‘‘It is from him,” was all she said. It was like a mes¬ 
sage from the dead. Mr. Owen took the letter, but could not 
break the envelope on account of his trembling fingers, and 
held it toward Mr. Allan with the helplessness of a child. 
The minister opened it and read as follows: 

“‘Dear Father,—When this reaches you I shall be in 
eternity. At first it seemed awful to me; but I have thought 
about it so much now that it has no terror, for they say they 
will not bind me, nor blind me, but that I may meet my death 
like a man. I thought, father, it might have been on the field 
of battle for my country, and that, when I fell, it would be 
fighting gloriously; but to be shot like a dog for nearly betray¬ 
ing it — to die for neglect of duty! Oh, father, I wonder the 
very thought does not kill me! But I shall not disgrace you. 
I am going to write you all about it, and when I am gone you 
may tell my comrades. I cannot now. 

‘“You know I promised Jemmie Carr’s mother I would look 
after her boy, and when he fell sick I did all I could for him. 
He was not strong when he was ordered back into the ranks, 
and the day before that night I carried all his luggage, be¬ 
sides my own, on our march. Toward night we went on 
double-quick, and though the luggage began to feel very 
heavy, everybody else was tired too; and as for Jemmie, if I 
had not lent him an arm now and then, he would have dropped 
by the way. I was all tired when we came into camp, and 
then it was Jemmie’s turn to be sentry, and I would take his 
place; but I was too tired, father. I could not have kept 
awake if a gun had been pointed at my head; but I did not 
know it until — well, until it was too late,’ ” 


io6 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


“ God be thanked! ’’ interrupted Mr. Owen, reverently. I 
knew Bennie was not the boy to sleep carelessly at his post.’^ 
‘ They tell me to-day that I have a short reprieve —given 
to me by circumstances — ^ time to write to you,’ our good 
Colonel says. Forgive him, father, he only does his duty; he 
would gladly save me if he could; and do not lay up my death 
against Jemmie. The poor boy is broken-hearted, and does 
nothing but beg and entreat them to let him die in my stead. 

“ ‘I can’t bear to think of mother and Blossom. Comfort 
them, father! Tell them that I die as a brave boy should, 
and that when the war is over, they will not be ashamed of 
me, as they must be now. God help me; it is very hard to 
bear! Good-bye, father! God seems near and dear to me; 
not at all as if He wished me to perish forever, but as if 
He felt sorry for His poor, sinful, broken-hearted child, and 
would take me to be with Him and my Saviour in a'lDetter — 
better life.’” 

A deep sigh burst from Mr. Owen’s heart. “Amen!” he 
said solemnly; “Amen!” 

^‘‘To-night, in the early twilight, I shall see the cows all 
coming home from pasture, and precious little Blossom 
standing on the back stoop, waiting for me; but I shall never, 
never come! God bless you all! Forgive your poor Bennie.’ ” 

Late that night the door of the “back stoop” opened softly, 
and a little figure glided out, and down the footpath that led 
to the road by the mill. She seemed rather flying than walk¬ 
ing, turning her head neither to the right nor the left, looking 
only now and then to heaven, and folding her hands as if in 
prayer. 

Two hours later the same young girl stood at the Mill 
Depot watching the coming of the night train; and the con¬ 
ductor, as he reached down to lift her into the car, wondered 
at the tear-stained face that was upturned toward the dim 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


107 


lantern he held in his hand. A few questions and ready 
answers told him all; and no father could have cared more 
tenderly for his only child than he for our little Blossom. She 
was on her way to Washington, to ask President Lincoln for 
her brother’s life. She had stolen away, leaving only a note 
to tell her father where and why she had gone. She had 
brought Bennie’s letter with her; no good, kind heart, like 
the President’s, could refuse to be melted by it. 

The next morning they reached New York, and the conduc¬ 
tor hurried her on to Washington. Every minute, now, might 
be the means of saving her brother’s life. And so, in an in¬ 
credibly short time. Blossom reached the capital, and has¬ 
tened immediately to the White House. 

The President had but just seated himself to his morning’s 
task of looking over and signing important papers, when, 
without one word of announcement, the door softly opened, 
and Blossom, with downcast eyes and folded hands, stood 
before him. 

^‘Well, my child,” he said, in his pleasant, cheerful tones, 
‘Vhat do you want so bright and early in the morning?” 

‘^Bennie’s life, please sir,” faltered Blossom. 

‘‘Bennie! Who is Bennie?” 

“My brother, sir. They are going to shoot him for sleeping 
at his post.” 

“Oh, yes,” and Mr. Lincoln ran his eye over the paper 
before him. “I remember. It was a fatal sleep. You see, 
child, it was at a time of special danger. Thousands of lives 
might have been lost for his culpable negligence.” 

“So my father said,” replied Blossom, gravely; “but poor 
Bennie was so tired, sir, and Jemmie so weak. He did the 
work of two, sir, and it was Jemmie’s night, not his; but 
Jemmie was too tired, and Bennie never thought about him¬ 
self, that he was tired too.”, 


io8 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


What is this you say, child? Come here; I do not under¬ 
stand/’ And the kind man caught eagerly, as ever, at what 
seemed to be a justification of an offense. 

Blossom went to him; he put his hand tenderly on her 
shoulder, and turned up the pale, anxious face toward his. 
How tall he seemed, and he was the President of the United 
States, too! A dim thought of this kind passed through 
Blossom’s mind, but she told her simple and straightforward 
story, and handed Mr. Lincoln Bennie’s letter to read. He 
read it carefully; then, taking up his pen, wrote a few hasty 
lines, and rang his bell. Blossom heard this order given: 
‘‘Send this dispatch at once.” 

The President then turned to the girl and said: “Go home, 
my child, and tell that father of yours, who could approve 
his country’s sentence even when it took the life of a child 
like that, that Abraham Lincoln thinks the life far too pre¬ 
cious to be lost. Go back; or — wait until to-morrow; 
Bennie will need a change after he has so bravely faced death; 
he shall go with you.” 

“God bless you, sir,” said Blossom; and who shall doubt 
that God heard and registered the prayer? 

Two days after this interview the young soldier came to 
the White House with his sister. He was called into the 
President’s private room, and a strap fastened “upon the 
shoulder.” Mr. Lincoln then said, “The soldier that could 
carry a sick comrade’s baggage, and die for the act so uncom¬ 
plainingly, deserves well of his country.” 

Then Bennie and Blossom took their way to their Green 
Mountain home. A crowd gathered at the Mill Depot to 
welcome them back; and, as Farmer Owen’s hand grasped 
that of his boy, tears flowed down his cheeks, and he was 
heard to say fervently, “The Lord be praised!” 

Mrs. R. D. C. Robbins (Adapted) 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


109 


THE BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 

The need of a great national song to meet the new and exciting 
conditions at the beginning of the Civil War was strongly felt. 

A committee was appointed to select such a hymn as could be 
sung in the homes in the North and in the army on the field. Many 
songs were offered, but none of them met the requirement of a fire 
of patriotism running through them. 

Julia Ward Howe, a poet not widely known at that time, in 
December, 1861, in company with her husband and some friends, 
visited Washington which presented the appearance of a great 
armed camp. She noted the railroad patrolled by pickets and the 
‘^watch-fires of a hundred circling camps.” 

Mrs. Howe and her party drove to a distance from the city to 
review the troops. At this time an attack of the enemy interrupted 
the program and the return drive was made between lines of sol¬ 
diers and therefore was necessarily very slow. To relieve the 
tediousness, Mrs. Howe and her friends sang army songs. 

That night she slept quietly, but waked toward dawn and 
found line after line taking shape in her mind. Fearing the words 
would be forgotten she sprang out of bed, and hastily wrote down 
the verses, then returned to bed and fell asleep. 

Upon her return to Boston, she showed the verses to James T. 
Fields, editor of the Atlantic Monthly. At his suggestion the title 
“Battle Hymn of the Republic” was given to the song and it was 
published. It may be of interest to know that Mrs. Howe received 
five dollars for her poem. 

All through the terrible struggle of the Civil War this great 
battle hymn was a source of inspiration to the armies of the 
North. It justifies war when the cause is for freedom, and thus 
it has become a song that can never perish, being the war song of 
a Christian nation. 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: 
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are 
stored; 

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword: 

His truth is marching on. 


no STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling 
camps; 

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and 
damps; 

I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring 
lamps. 

His day is marching on. 

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel: 

“ As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall 
deal; 

Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel. 
Since God is marching on.” 

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call 
retreat; 

He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat; 
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! 
Our God is marching on. 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea. 
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me: 

As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free. 
While God is marching on. 

Julia Ward Howe 

THE NOBLEST SOUTHERNER, ROBERT E. LEE 

Westmoreland County, Virginia, is a little county lying 
between the Rappahannock and Potomac Rivers, which was 
originally cut off from Northumberland County. It is not 
more than thirty miles long and about half as broad, but it 
has probably produced more great men than any other spot 
of its size in the United States. 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


III 


Stratford, the Lee home, was one of the most beautiful and 
interesting of the Colonial mansions of Virginia. Its timbers 
were of solid hewn oak of great size, and the bricks used in 
the building were brought from England. The walls of the 
first floor were two and a half feet thick and those above 
were two feet. The house was meant to be a permanent fam¬ 
ily home, after the fashion of English houses, and was very 
stately. It is still standing. 

In this home, on January 19, 1807, was born Robert Ed* 
ward Lee. The room in which he was born was the same one 
in which two signers of the Declaration of Independence had 
first seen the light. All the surroundings were full of tradi¬ 
tion, and all suggested culture and refinement, and stood for 
honor, sincerity, and patriotism. Here was a fit nursery of 
greatness, and the mind of the small boy, who was surrounded 
by books, by portraits of soldiers and statesmen, by beauti¬ 
ful silver and mahogany, must have been impressed to his 
future advantage. 

His father, having died when Robert was very young, left 
him almost entirely to the care of his mother. She impressed 
upon him habits of action and thought destined to remain 
with him throughout his whole life. Patriotism he was born 
to, and it was fostered in him through his school days at 
Alexandria. The place was full of associations with the 
‘father of his Country,” and as Washington became there 
the hero and ideal of Lee’s boyhood, so he was in many ways 
the model of his manhood, and study of Washington teaches 
patriotism. 

As he grew toward manhood, he began to plan for the fu¬ 
ture, for, as there was no fortune at his command, he was 
anxious to be self-supporting. He applied for appointment 
to West Point in 1824, and on July 25, 1825, he became a 
part of that great institution. He graduated three years 


II2 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


later, with high honors, and was commissioned lieutenant in 
the Engineering Corps of the United States Army. 

At the outbreak of the War with Mexico he was called 
into service and won such distinction that it may be said his 
whole later career was the result of this brilliant beginning. 

In the years following the Mexican War a violent dispute 
over slavery arose in the United States. So far as slavery was 
concerned, Lee, like many Southerners in the Border States, 
never doubted its evils. He freed all the slaves he owned and 
was influential in getting others to do the same. 

As time passed, the disagreement over slavery involved 
the questions of preserving the Union and the secession of 
Virginia. 

Lee was ordered to Washington, where he was promoted 
to colonel of the First Cavalry, and at the time of the first call 
for troops the chief command of the United States Army was 
offered to him. Lee’s reply was what might have been ex¬ 
pected, ‘‘If I owned four millions of slaves, I would cheer¬ 
fully sacrifice them to the preservation of the Union, but to 
lift my hand against my own State and people is impossible.” 

Two days later he bade Arlington a long and sorrowful 
farewell. He went immediately to Richmond and was nomi¬ 
nated major general and commander-in-chief of the forces 
of Virginia. 

The making of the Union was largely due to Virginia, and 
she loved it; but in all things, according to Virginia theory, 
Virginia came first. To remain with the Union carried with 
it the necessity of fighting those States most closely allied 
to her by ties of blood, friendship, and common interest, all 
of whom were acting, if unwisely, still in the exercise of what 
she considered their undoubted right, and she cast her lot 
with the South. 

Lee knew the strength and resources of the North and he 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


113 

had no illusions as to an easy victory. He knew that it was 
doubtful, and yet he declined the highest rank in his profes¬ 
sion that he might serve his own State. These words of his 
to his son express his feeling almost better than anything 
else could do: “I know that wherever you may be placed you 
will do your duty. That is all the pleasure, all the comfort, 
all the glory we can enjoy in this world.” In these words, the 
keynote of his whole life, lie the explanation and defense — 
if there still be any need of defense in this day of a united and 
understanding country — of Lee’s decision. 

At the time of the centenary celebration of Lee’s birth, 
the Outlook, in an editorial, expresses the best thought of the 
Nation to-day as to the choice of Lee and his comrades: ^Hf 
willingness to sacrifice what is passionately prized next to 
honor itself is any criterion as to the degree of patriotism 
that begets such sacrifice, then the Southerners of whom 
Robert E. Lee is the type are to be counted among the 
patriots whose lives constitute the real riches of the Nation.” 

In spite of Lee’s great ability as a general, the Southerners 
were defeated, and Lee surrendered to General Grant at 
Appomattox on April 12, 1865. 

There is no need to add to the already lengthy discussion 
as to whether Lee or Grant was the greater general. Both 
were superbly great, and no finer memory has been left to 
Americans than the meeting of the two at Appomattox as 
the leaders of two noble American armies struggling for con¬ 
flicting theories of government. 

After the war Lee became president of Washington Col¬ 
lege in Lexington, Virginia. The name of this was changed 
to Washington and Lee University a few years later. 

Lee died early on the morning of October 12, 1870. The 
South mourned the death of its great leader. The North 
joined in paying tribute, not only to a great soldier, but to a 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


114 

great character. There can be no better expression of what 
the North had come to see in Lee than the words of the New 
York Herald at the time of his death: 

‘‘On a quiet autunrn morning, in the land he loved so well, 
and, as he held, served so faithfully, the spirit of Robert 
Edward Lee left the clay which it had so much ennobled, and 
traveled out of this world into the great and mysterious land. 
The expressions of regret which sprang from the few who 
surrounded the bedside of the dying soldier, on yesterday, 
will be swelled to-day into one mighty voice of sorrow, re¬ 
sounding throughout our country, and extending over all 
parts of the world where his great genius and his many vir¬ 
tues are known. For not to the Southern people alone shall 
be limited the tribute of a tear over the dead Virginian. 
Here in the North, forgetting that the time was when the 
sword of Robert Edward Lee was drawn against us, — for¬ 
getting and forgiving all the years of bloodshed and agony, 
— we have claimed him as one of ourselves; have cherished 
and felt proud of his military genius as belonging to us; have 
recounted and recorded his triumphs as our own; have ex¬ 
tolled his virtue as reflecting upon us — for Robert Edward 
Lee was an American, and the great Nation which gave him 
birth would be to-day unworthy of such a son if she regarded 
him lightly. 

“Never had mother nobler son. In him the military genius 
of America developed to a greater extent than ever before. 
In him all that was pure and lofty in mind and purpose found 
lodgment. Dignified without presumption, affable without 
familiarity, he united all these charms of manner which made 
him the idol of his friends and of his soldiers, and won for 
him the respect and admiration of the world. Even as, in 
the days of his triumph, glory did not intoxicate, so, when 
the dark clouds swept over him, adversity did not depress. 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


115 


From the hour that he surrendered his sword at Appomattox 
to the fatal autumn morning, he passed among men, noble 
in his quiet, simple dignity, displaying neither bitterness nor 
regret over the irrevocable past. He conquered us in mis¬ 
fortune by the grand manner in which he sustained himself, 
even as he dazzled us by his genius when the tramp of his 
soldiers resounded through the valleys of Virginia. 

“And for such a man we are all tears and sorrow to-day. 
Standing beside his grave, all men of the South and men of 
the North can mourn with all the bitterness of four years of 
warfare erased by this common bereavement. May this unity 
of grief — this unselfish manifestation over the loss of the 
Bayard of America — in the season of dead leaves and with¬ 
ered branches which this death ushers in, bloom and blossom 
like the distant coming spring into the flowers of a heartier 
accord.’^ 

J. G. de Roulhac and Mary T. Hamilton {Adapted) 


DIXIE 

In a little hut, near Mount Vernon, Ohio, lived an old minstrel, 
Daniel Decatur Emmet, or as most people called him, “Old Dan 
Emmet,*' the composer of Dixie. 

Content he was with his clean little home, his small garden, and 
his chickens. Many years before, while traveling with a minstrel 
troupe through the North, he had been asked by the manager to 
compose a new song for the walk-a-round. He was given only two 
days in which to do this. 

It had been the custom of these troupes to make tours of the 
South, and it was a customary thing to hear different ones make 
the remark, if they happened to be in the North during the winter, 
“I wish I was in Dixie." 

As Emmet was standing at the window on the last day he looked 
at the dreary, drizzly landscape and this same desire came to him. 
He took his old violin and in a short time had composed the 


ii 6 STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 

song which has become one of the most popular songs of this 
country. 

Emmet was a Northern man, a Northern sympathizer, but the 
song was immediately taken up by the South and used as their 
song. The whole country rang with it. 

A song which was written to express the feelings of a Northern 
man, became the song of the South. 


I WISH I was in the land ob cotton, 

Old times dar am not forgotten, 

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land. 
In Dixie Land whar I was born in. 

Early on one frosty mornin’. 

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land. 

Chorus — 

Den I wish I was in Dixie, Hooray! Hooray! 

In Dixie Land I’ll take my stand. 

To lib and die in Dixie, 

Away, away, away down South in Dixie, 
Away, away, away down South in Dixie. 


Old Missus marry ‘‘Will, de weaber,” 

Willium was a gay deceaber; 

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land. 
But when he put his arm around ’er. 

He smiled, as fierce as a forty-pounder. 

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land. 


His face was sharp as a butcher’s cleaber. 

But that did not seem to greab her. 

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land. 
Old Missus acted the foolish part, 

And died for a man dat broke her heart. 

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land. 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


I 


Now here’s a health to de next old Missus, 

And all de girls dat want to kiss us; 

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land! 
But if you want to drive ’way sorrow, 

Come an’ hear dis song, to-morrow. 

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land! 


Dar’s buckwheat cakes an’ Ingen batter. 

Makes you fat or a little fatter. 

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land. 
Den hoe it down an’ scratch your grabble. 

To Dixie’s Land I’m bound to trabble. 

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land. 

Daniel Decatur Emmet 


THE LITTLE DRUMMER 

’T IS of a little drummer. 

The story I shall tell; 

Of how he marched to battle. 

Of all that there befell. 

Out in the west with Lyon 

(For once the name was true!) 

For whom the little drummer beat 
His rat-tat-too. 

Our army rose at midnight. 

Ten thousand men as one. 

Each slinging off his knapsack 
And snatching up his gim. 

^Torward!” and off they started. 

As all good soldiers do. 

When the little drummer beats for them 
The rat-tat-too. 


ii8 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 

Across a rolling country, 

Where the mist began to rise; 

Past many a blackened farmhouse, 

Till the sun was in the skies; 

Then we met the rebel pickets, 

Who skirmished and withdrew. 

While the little drummer beat, and beat 
The rat-tat-too. 

Along the wooded hollows 
The line of battle ran. 

Our centre poured a volley. 

And the fight at once began; 

For the rebels answered shouting. 

And a shower of bullets flew; 

But still the little drummer beat 
His rat-tat-too. 

He stood among his comrades. 

As they quickly formed the line. 

And when they raised their muskets 
He watched the barrels shine. 

When the volley rang, he started, 

For war to him was new; 

But still the little drummer beat 
His rat-tat-too. 

It was a sight to see them, 

That early autumn day. 

Our soldiers in their blue coats. 

And the rebel ranks in gray; 

The smoke that rolled between them. 
The balls that whistled through. 

And the little drummer as he beat 
His rat-tat-too! 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


His comrades dropped around him, — 
By fives and tens they fell, 

Some pierced by Minie bullets, 

Some torn by shot and shell: 

They played against our cannon, 

And a caisson’s splinters flew; 

But still the little drummer beat 
His rat-tat-too! 

The right, the left, the centre, — 

The fight was eveiywhere; 

They pushed us here, — we wavered, — 
We drove and broke them there. 
The graybacks fixed their bayonets. 

And charged the coats of blue. 

But still the little drununer beat 
His rat-tat-too! 

‘‘Where is our little drummer?” 

His nearest comrades say. 

When the dreadful fight is over. 

And the smoke has cleared away. 
As the rebel corps was scattering 
He urged them to pursue. 

So furiously he beat, and beat 
The rat-tat-too! 

He stood no more among them. 

For a bullet, as it sped, 

Had glanced and struck his ankle. 

And stretched him with the dead! 
He crawled behind a cannon. 

And pale and paler grew: 

But still the little drummer beat 
His rat-tat-too! 


120 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


They bore him to the surgeon, 

A busy man was he: 

A drummer boy — what ails him? 

His comrades answered, ‘‘See!’^ 
As they took him from the stretcher 
A heavy breath he drew. 

And his little fingers strove to beat 
The rat-tat-too! 

The ball had spent its fury: 

“A scratch!” the surgeon said. 

As he wound the snowy bandage 
Which the lint was staining red. 

^‘1 must leave you now, old fellow!” 

‘‘Oh, take me back with you. 

For I know the men are missing me 
And the rat-tat-too!” 

Upon his comrade’s shoulder 
They lifted him so grand. 

With his dusty drum before him. 

And his drumsticks in his hand! 
To the fiery front of battle. 

That nearer, nearer drew, — 
And evermore he beat, and beat 
His rat-tat-too! 

The wounded as he passed them 
Looked up and gave a cheer; 
And one in dying blessed him. 
Between a smile and tear. 

And the graybacks — they are flying 
Before the coats of blue, 

For whom the little drummer beats 
His rat-tat-too. 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


I 2 I 


When the west was red with sunset, 

The last pursuit was o’er; 

Brave Lyon rode the foremost, 

And looked the name he bore. 

And before him on his saddle. 

As a weary child would do. 

Sat the little drummer, fast asleep. 

With his rat-tat-too. 

Richard Henry Stoddard 


LITTLE GIFFEN 

Out of the focal and foremost fire. 

Out of the hospital walls as dire. 

Smitten of grapeshot and gangrene, 

(Eighteenth battle, and he sixteen!) 

Specter such as we seldom see. 

Little Giffen of Tennessee! 

“Take him — and welcome!” the surgeons said; 
“Little the doctor can help the dead!” 

So we took him and brought him where 
The balm was sweet in the summer air; 

And we laid him down on a wholesome bed — 
Utter Lazarus, heel to head! 

And we watched the war with abated breath, — 
Skeleton boy against skeleton Death. 

Months of torture, how many such! 

Weary weeks of the stick and crutch! 

And still a glint in the steel-blue eye 
Spoke of a spirit that would n’t die. 


122 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


And did nT. Nay, more! in death’s despite 
The crippled skeleton learned to write! 

‘‘Dear mother,” at first, of course; and then 
“Dear captain,” inquiring about “the men.” 

Captain’s answer — “Of eighty and five, 

Giffen and I are left alive!” 

Word of gloom from the war one day; 

“Johnston’s pressed at the front, they say!” 

Little Giffen was up and away. 

A tear, his first, as he bade good-bye. 

Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye; 

“I’ll write, if spared.” There was news of a fight, 

But none of Giffen. He did not write! 

I sometimes fancy that, were I king 
Of the princely knights of the Golden Ring, 

With the song of the minstrel in mine ear. 

And the tender legend that trembles here, 

I’d give the best, on his bended knee. 

The whitest soul of my chivalry, 

For little Giffen of Tennessee. 

Francis 0 . Ticknor 

LITTLE ATHENS’ MESSAGE ^ 

Little Athens lived in a small American city. I am sure 
you have wondered if Little Athens really, truly, was a child 
born in the Greek city of that name far over the earth. You 
will have to guess at the strange story of how he and his 
father, alone now, came to make their home in this pleasant 
place. However, you know a town of not many thousand 

^ Copyright, Peace Association of Friends in America. 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


123 


people is large enough to support one business of blocking 
hats. Since they lived in the neat coachman’s house in the 
rear of Miss Grace’s premises, the father considered them¬ 
selves ^‘comfortably fixed” with this fairly definite bread- 
and-butter arrangement of life. 

Miss Grace had helped Little Athens in speaking English. 
She found him so well prepared in arithmetic, geography, and 
history that he was equal to those of the upper grammar 
grades. In history he was happiest, for to him this subject 
was a fascinating story of the people who lived in neighbor¬ 
hoods, one to another, all around the earth. When his turn 
came to recite in Greek mythology or history his English 
flowed easily, as he told of this great hero or that, of the time 
when their conquests were mighty in the earth. 

Here was a chance to help Little Athens overcome timidity 
about his broken EngHsh! The teacher assigned as his work 
for the next lesson to tell the class something of Greece. “Of 
the Old Greece, Miss Ward?” “Of the Greece you care most 
for. Tell us the best thing you know of your country.” Little 
Athens fairly beamed! 

After school each day he was busy caring for the lawn and 
running errands for Miss Grace and her mother. Then, for 
one happy hour before bedtime, with their little prints and 
few books the father and son took wonderful trips through 
poetry, pictures, and stories, back to old Athens. To-night 
the father began in the pure Greek they always used together: 
“Son, I have wished as you grew older to tell you a message 
from your country. I have waited until you can appreciate 
it.” They talked together long. After he had gone to bed 
Little Athens repeated to himself the message which had 
come to him from his country. 

The next day Miss Ward called for his assignment in his¬ 
tory. The boy arose before his class. 


124 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


“Boys and girls, I thought yesterday of how happy I would 
be to-day, for I could tell you of some great warrior or grand 
conquest in the old land of my birth. Whenever I do, I think 
I help us forget I am a Greek immigrant and that you are all 
trying to help me. I think you may admire in the greatness of 
my country of the past some of the power of war which you 
like so much in your American heroes. I think I can help us 
forget I am ‘Little Athens’ and came over steerage, and help 
us think I am just another boy whose country was once 
grand and powerful too. But Miss Ward asked for the best 
I knew from Greece, so I give you this message of which I 
am growing more proud every hour. 

“In Athens long ago boys were taught, when they became 
my age, a pledge. They said it each day, believed in and tried 
to live by the vow. Fathers taught their sons, who, growing 
up, gave it in turn to their own boys. Each helped make the 
pledge true until Athens became ‘Athens, the Beautiful.’ 

Pledge of the Athenian Youths 

“‘We will never bring disgrace to this our city, by any act 
of dishonesty or cowardice, nor ever desert our comrades; we 
will fight for the ideals and sacred things of the city, both 
alone and with many; we will revere and obey the city laws 
and do our best to incite a like respect and reverence in others; 
we will strive unceasingly to quicken the public’s sense of 
civic duty; that thus, in all these ways, we may transmit this 
city, greater, better, and more beautiful than it was trans¬ 
mitted to us.’ 

“I am away from Greece. My country of father’s books 
and stories does not live to-day. But I wish to do the best 
my land has taught her sons. You are my friends, this my 
state and here is my own city. So every day like a Greek 
youth true to his own Athens, I will say this pledge for June- 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


125 


tion City/^ With head high he began — “I will never bring 
disgrace to this our city by any act of dishonesty or cow¬ 
ardice/’ — slowly and clearly he continued, closing — ‘‘And 
I, Little Athens, may help ‘to transmit this city, greater, 
better, more beautiful than it was transmitted to us.’ Miss 
Ward, this is the best I have learned from Greece.” 

The children sat silent a minute. Miss Ward was not think¬ 
ing of their charge’s English. One of the boys began — “Oh, 
Miss Ward, may he teach it to us?” A girl continued,' “And 
it’s for girls, too, isn’t it?” With Little Athens’ dictation 
it was written on the board. Now, the pupils of this school 
had an organization with duly elected officers. They were 
installed that week, and the president’s address, much to the 
surprise of the Greek lad, told of the Athenian pledge. A 
motion was carried that it be taken for their motto. 

After school two of the biggest boys caught Little Athens, 
put him on the shoulders of a crowd, and they carried him 
down the street. “Nine ’Rahs for Little Athens” rent the air. 

Surely the little Greek heathen was at home in their — 
yes, in his — city. 

Anna Doan Stephens 

COMMODORE DEWEY, THE HERO OF MANILA 

Far across the Pacific Ocean in the harbor of Hong Kong, 
there were, in the early spring of 1898, some half dozen 
warships of the United States Navy, known as the Asiatic 
Squadron. 

This little fleet, protecting and caring for American in¬ 
terests in the Far East, was in command of Commodore 
George Dewey, a clear-headed man of keen judgment, pos¬ 
sessing the same masterful spirit of the old war-time hero. 
Admiral Farragut, under whose training in 1862 he had 


126 STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 

learned decision, appreciation of discipline, and skilled gun¬ 
nery. 

War with Spain was declared, and Commodore Dewey 
received instructions from the Navy Department to pro¬ 
ceed at once to the Philippine Islands and commence opera¬ 
tions against the Spanish fleet with orders to capture or de¬ 
stroy it. The intention of the Navy Department was to sweep 
the seas clear of Spanish warships. 

On April 19, 1898, the color of the ships was changed 
from white to a fighting gray — a significant fact to the men 
on board, who knew that now real action was about to begin. 
Within a few days the American fleet left the harbor of Hong 
Kong for Mirs Bay, thirty miles distant, where Dewey 
would receive information from the United States Consul 
concerning the fortifications of Manila. 

From Mirs Bay, on April 27, began a journey which must 
end in humiliation and defeat or in glorious victory. Com¬ 
modore Dewey’s flagship, the Olympia, led the way, followed 
by the Baltimore, the Raleigh, the Petrel, the Concord, and 
the Boston, with, in a parallel line, the McCulloch and two 
transports. 

Three days later, at sunrise, the coast of Luzon, the largest 
of the Philippines, greeted the eyes of the crews, with its 
tropical colors and beauties. The Spanish fleet was reported 
to be in Subig Bay, near the entrance to Manila Bay, but 
the two warships sent on to reconnoiter failed to see any sign 
of the enemy there. So Dewey headed for Corregidor Island, 
lying directly in the entrance to Manila Bay. 

This island, rising to a height of six hundred feet, was 
strongly fortified with big Krupp guns. Somewhere behind 
it lay the Spanish fleet which it was Dewey’s mission to de¬ 
stroy. Five miles across on the mainland was El Fraile, with 
its battery. Through the night Dewey had determined his 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


127 

course. He had decided to ^^run the batteries’’ under cover 
of darkness. 

The squadron was re-formed, and silently, led by the 
Olympia, the ships, in single file, proceeded on their way, 
until they were opposite Corregidor Island. All went well 
until a flame of fire shooting from the smokestack of the Mc¬ 
Culloch betrayed the presence of our fleet. A rocket from 
the island gave the alarm, followed by the roar of a big gun 
from the battery of El Fraile. The Boston opened fire upon 
the battery and silenced the Spanish gims. Soon all the ships 
were in the bay and a deep silence brooded over the night. 
The fleet crept onward in strange waters, not knowing of the 
dangers with which they might be surrounded, and on the 
morning of the first day of May the outlines of the city of 
Manila were plainly seen. 

On the opposite shore was the town of Cavite, protected 
with a fort. In its little bay lay the Spam'sh fleet, under com¬ 
mand of Admiral Montojo. His ships outnumbered ours two 
to one. 

At daybreak firing began from the fort at Cavite. With 
the Olympia leading, our ships advanced in a semi-circle. 
Commodore Dewey turned to Captain Gridley, of the Olym¬ 
pia, saying, ^‘You may fire when you’re ready, Gridley.” 

At that, our guns thundered forth. From each ship poured 
flames of death and destruction, shrouding the Spanish ships 
and forts in smoke. After the ships had passed they turned 
about through another half circle, presenting the other-side 
guns to the enemy. On the bridge of his flagship stood Com¬ 
modore Dewey directing all movements, with no protection 
from shot and shell. 

Admiral Montojo’s flagship advanced to meet the Olympia. 
It was met with a two-hundred-fifty-pound shell which ex¬ 
ploded her boiler, killing the captain and one hundred forty 


128 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


men. The Spanish admiral barely escaped to another shipK 
Thus the battle raged until Commodore Dewey saw that his 
men must have rest and breakfast. While the ships rested, 
the forts of Manila and Cavite maintained a steady bom¬ 
bardment, which firing, in the positions now held by the fleet, 
fell short. 

The Baltimore was now ordered to answer the fire of the 
forts. This was a brave and a serious task, for the waters 
were mined. The Olympia followed the Baltimore, and for 
two hours four ships rained steel missiles into the forts. After 
terrific firing and sinking several of the Spanish ships, Dewey 
was rewarded by seeing the white flag of surrender raised 
from Cavite. 

The signal to cease firing’’ flew from the Olympia, and, 
according to the Commodore’s report, the Spanish batteries 
being silenced, and the ships sunk, burned, or deserted, the 
squadron returned and anchored off Manila.” 

Commodore Dewey had obeyed orders. He had, by his 
daring, skill, and strategy, destroyed the Spanish fleet and 
captured Manila, the pride of Spain. The whole world soon 
knew that another name had been added to the honor roll 
of American naval heroes — that of George Dewey, U.S.N. 

Katharine I. Bemis 

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER ^ 

In 1814, while the War of 1812 was still going on, the people of 
Maryland were in great trouble, for a British fleet had sailed into 
Chesapeake Bay. The cannon would be aimed at some town, but 
no one knew which. The ships sailed up one river, then came back 
and sailed up another, as if they had not decided where to go. 
The people who lived on the banks of these rivers fired alarm guns 
and lighted signal fires to let those who lived inland know that 
danger was near. The ships lingered, hesitated, then suddenly 
^ From Eva March Tappan’s Little Book of the Flag. 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


129 


spread all sail and ran to the north up the Bay. “They will surely 
attack us,” thought the people of Annapolis, and they crammed 
their wheelbarrows, and hurried away to the country as fast as 
they could. But the ships sailed past Annapolis. Then there was 
no question which town was to be attacked; it was Baltimore. 

As the fleet sailed on. General Ross, the British commander, 
spoke of his plans. “I shall have my winter quarters in Balti¬ 
more,” he said. 

“What about the American militia, general?” asked one of his 
oflScers playfully. 

“ Militia? ” replied Ross; “ I don’t care a straw if it rains militia.” 

The fleet landed the soldiers at the mouth of the Patapsco 
River, and sailed up stream toward the town. The men marched 
up the river for five miles. They met a force of American militia, 
and there was a sharp fight for two or three hours; then the Amer¬ 
icans retreated. “There will be no great trouble in taking the 
town in the morning,” thought the leader, “ and we will camp here 
to-night.” When morning came, he found that however it might 
be about taking the town, he would have some trouble in getting 
to it; for the Americans had dug ditches, and dragged heavy logs 
across the road. It took the whole day to get in sight of the place; 
and then they found it anything but an agreeable sight, for all 
along the hills above the city was a heavy line of intrenchments. 
There seemed to be plenty of men behind the intrenchments, and 
the British concluded that they would not take possession of their 
winter quarters at once. They thought it would be pleasanter to 
wait at least until after dark, when they would not be so plainly 
seen from the forts. “The cannon on our ships will surely silence 
Fort McHenry and the other forts and batteries by that time,” 
they said. 

While the soldiers were stumbling over logs and rolling into 
hidden ditches, the cannon on the British ships were firing as fast 
as possible. The river was so shallow that the men-of-war could 
not get within range of the town. “Wewill bombard the forts,” 
they said. “They will yield in a few hours, and then our troops 
can march up and take the city.” For twenty-four hours the ter¬ 
rific bombardment went on. 

“If Fort McHenry only stands, the city is safe,” said Francis 
Scott Key to a friend, and they gazed anxiously through the 
smoke to see if the flag was still flying. 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


130 

These two men were in the strangest place that could be imag¬ 
ined. They were in a little American vessel fast moored to the 
side of the British admiral’s flagship. A Maryland doctor had 
been seized as a prisoner by the British, and the President had 
given permission for them to go out under a flag of truce to ask 
for his release. The British commander finally decided that the 
prisoner might be set free; but he had no idea of allowing the two 
men to go back to the city and carry any information. “Until the 
attack on Baltimore is ended, you and your boat must remain 
here,” he said. 

The firing went on. As long as the daylight lasted, they could 
catch glimpses of the stars and stripes whenever the wind swayed 
the clouds of smoke. When night came they could still see the 
banner now and then by the blaze of the cannon. A little after 
midnight the firing stopped. The two men paced up and down 
the deck, straining their eyes to see if the flag was still flying. 
“Can the fort have surrendered?” they questioned. “Oh, if 
morning would only come!” 

At last the faint gray of dawn appeared. They could see that 
some flag was flying, but it was too dark to tell which. More 
and more eagerly they gazed. It grew lighter, a sudden breath of 
wind caught the flag; it was their own stars and stripes. The fort 
had stood, the city was safe. Then it was that Key took from his 
pocket an old letter and on the back of it he wrote the poem. The 
Star-Spangled Banner. The British departed, and the little Amer¬ 
ican boat went back to the city. Mr. Key gave a copy of the poem 
to his uncle, who had been helping to defend the fort. The uncle 
sent it to a printer, and had it struck off on some handbills. 
Before the ink was dry the printer caught up one and hurried 
away to a restaurant, where many patriots were assembled. 
Waving the paper, he cried, “Listen to this!” and he read: — 

“0 say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light, 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming, 

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight. 

O’er the ramparts we watch’d were so gallantly streaming? 

And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air. 

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. 

O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?” 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


131 

“Sing it! Sing it!’’ cried the whole company. Charles Durang 
moimted a chair, and then for the first time The Star-Spangled 
Banner wa.s sung. The tune was To Anacreon in Heaven^ an air 
which had long been a favorite. The song was caught up at once. 
Halls, theaters, and private houses rang with its strains. 

The fleet was out of sight even before the poem was printed. 
In the middle of the night the admiral had sent to the British sol¬ 
diers the message, “I can do nothing more,” and they had hurried 
on board the vessels. It was not long before they left Chesapeake 
Bay altogether — perhaps with the new song ringing in their ears 
as they went. 

Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light, 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming. 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro’ the perilous fight. 
O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly stream¬ 
ing? 

And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air. 

Gave proof thro’ the night that our flag was still there. 

Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave? 

On the shore, dimly seen thro’ the mists of the deep. 

Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,. 
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep. 

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 

Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam, 

In full glory, reflected, now shines on the stream; 

’T is the star-spangled banner! Oh, long may it wave 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

And where are the foes that so vauntingly swore 
That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion 
A home and a country should leave us no more? 

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution. 


132 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


No refuge could save the hireling and slave 
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave: 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave 
O^er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 
Between their loved homes and foul war’s desolation, 
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav’n-rescued land 
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. 
Then conquer we must, when our cause is so just, 

And this be our motto: “In God is our trust!” 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

Francis Scott Key 


AMERICA 

“My country, ’tis of thee.” No American can repeat these 
words without feeling a debt of gratitude to the man who gave so 
natural, so beautiful, and so inspiring a gift to the American peo¬ 
ple. To every one who sings the hymn comes a feeling of personal 
ownership in our great Republic. 

Rev. Samuel F. Smith, the author of the national hymn, was 
graduated from Andover Seminary in 1832. One day, in looking 
over some old music-books, he came across the air, God Save the 
King, and liked the music. Inspired by the melody he went to 
work and in half an hour America was produced. The original 
and the tune of this song go far back into the past. It can be 
traced through England into Germany. The Germans took it 
from the Norsemen, who in turn took it from the Finns. They 
captured it from the Huns, who introduced it into Europe from 
Asia. It is even claimed that the tune dates back to the time of 
the ancient Egyptians. Whatever the history of the tune may be, 
inspiration and beauty in the air and the ennobling sentiment of 
the words make it recognized the world over as the great national 
hymn of America. 


HOW OUR NATION GREW 


133 


My country, T is of thee, 

Sweet land of liberty. 

Of thee I sing; 

Land where my fathers died, 

Land of the pilgrims^ pride. 

From every mountain-side, 

Let freedom ring. 

My native country, thee. 

Land of the noble free, — 

Thy name I love; 

I love thy rocks and rills. 

Thy woods and templed hills; 

My heart with rapture thrills 
Like that above. 

Let music swell the breeze. 

And ring from all the trees. 

Sweet freedom’s song; 

Let mortal tongues awake. 

Let all that breathe partake. 

Let rocks their silence break, — 

The sound prolong. 

Our fathers’ God, to Thee, 

Author of Liberty, 

To Thee I sing; 

Long may our land be bright 
With freedom’s holy light; 

Protect us by Thy might. 

Great God, our King! 

Samuel F, Smith 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


LA MARSEILLAISE 

The greatest of all war songs is La Marseillaise^ the national 
song of France. 

In 1792 war had been declared against Austria. Six hundred 
volunteers were about to leave Strassburg to join the army of the 
Rhine. A song to arouse a high spirit of patriotism was needed 
and young Rouget de Lisle, a captain of engineers who was of a 
musical turn of mind, was asked to compose one. Before daylight 
the next morning he had written the great battle hymn of the 
French. 

It was like fire-water to the men of the French Revolution and 
inspired them to terrible deeds. 

Many times inspired by the song of France, men would leap the 
trenches. It seemed to dispel all fear, and they would drive the 
foe from its positions. 

De Lisle was wounded in France, in 1795, and after leaving the 
army was reduced to poverty, until in 1830 he was granted a 
pension by Louis Philippe. 

Ye sons of Freedom, awake to glory! 

Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise! 

Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary. 

Behold their tears and hear their cries! 

Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding, 

With hireling hosts, a ruffian band. 

Affright and desolate the land. 

While peace and liberty lie bleeding? 

Chorus: — 

To arms, to arms, ye brave! 

The avenging sword unsheath! 

March on, march on, all hearts resolved, 

On victory or death. 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


135 


Now, now the dangerous storm is scowling, 

Which treacherous kings, confederate, raise; 

The dogs of war, let loose, are howling. 

And lo! our fields and cities blaze; 

And shall we basely view the ruin. 

While lawless force, with guilty stride, 

Spreads desolation far and wide. 

With crimes and blood his hands embruing? 

With luxury and pride surrounded, 

The vile, insatiate despots dare 
(Their thirst of power and gold unbounded) 

To mete and vend the light and air. 

Like beasts of burden would they load us. 

Like gods would bid their slaves adore; 

But man is man, and who is more? 

Then, shall they longer lash and goad us? 

O Liberty, can man resign thee! 

Once having felt thy generous flame? 

Can dungeons, bars and bolts confine thee, 

Or whips thy noble spirit tame? 

Too long the world has wept, bewailing 
That falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield; 

But freedom is our sword and shield, 

And all their arts are unavailing. 

Rouget de Lisle 


JOAN OF ARC 

Jeanne d’Arc was the child of a laborer of Domremy, a 
little village in the neighborhood of Vaucouleurs, on the bor¬ 
ders of Lorraine and Champagne. Just without the cottage 


136 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


where she was born began the great woods of the Vosges, 
where the children of Domremy drank in poetry and legend 
from fairy ring and haunted well, hung their flower garlands 
on the sacred trees, and sang songs to the ^‘good people,” 
who might not drink of the fountain because of their sins. 
Jeanne loved the forest; its birds and beasts came lovingly 
to her at her childish call. But at home men saw nothing in 
her but “a good girl, simple and pleasant in her ways,” spin¬ 
ning and sewing by her mother’s side while the other girls 
went to the fields, tender to the poor and sick, fond of church, 
and listening to the church-bell with a dreamy passion of 
delight which never left her. 

The quiet life was soon broken by the storm of war as it 
at last came home to Domremy. The war had long since 
reached the borders of Lorraine. The north of France, indeed, 
was being fast reduced to a desert. The husbandmen fled for 
refuge to the towns, till these in fear of famine shut their gates 
against them. Then, in their despair, they threw themselves 
into the woods and became brigands in their turn. So terrible 
was the devastation, that two hostile bodies of troops at one 
time failed even to find one another in the desolate Beauce. 
The towns were in hardly better case, for misery and disease 
killed a hundred thousand people in Paris alone. 

As the outcasts and wounded passed by Domremy the 
young peasant girl gave them her bed and nursed them in 
their sickness. Her whole nature summed itself up in one ab¬ 
sorbing passion: she ''had pity,” to use the phrase forever on 
her lip, “on the fair realm of France.” As her passion grew 
she recalled old prophecies that a maid from the Lorraine 
border should save the land; she saw visions; St. Michael 
appeared to her in a flood of blinding light and bade her go 
to the help of the king and restore to him his realm. “Mes- 
sire,” answered the girl, “I am but a poor maiden; I know not 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


137 


how to ride to the wars, or to lead men-at-arms.” The arch¬ 
angel returned to give her courage and to tell her of the 
pity” that there was in heaven for the fair realm of France. 
The girl wept and longed that the angels who appeared to 
her would carry her away, but her mission was clear. 

It was in vain that her father, when he heard her purpose, 
swore to drown her ere she should go to the field with men- 
at-arms. It was in vain that the wise people of the village, 
the captain of Vaucouleurs, doubted and refused to aid her. 
“I must go to the king,” persisted the peasant girl, “even if 
I wear my limbs to the very knees. I had far rather rest and 
spin by my mother’s side,” she pleaded, with a touching 
pathos, “for this is no work of my choosing, but I must go 
and do it, for my Lord wills it.” “And who,” they asked, 
“is your Lord?” “He is God.” 

Words such as these touched the rough captain at last; he 
took Jeanne by the hand and swore to lead her to the king. 
When she reached Chinon, she found hesitation and doubt. 
The wise men proved from their books that they ought not 
to believe her. “There is more in God’s book than in yours,” 
Jeanne answered simply. At last Charles received her in the 
midst of a throng of nobles and soldiers. “ Gentle Dauphin,” 
said the girl, “my name is Jeanne the Maid. The Heavenly 
King sends me to tell you that you shall be anointed and 
crowned in the town of Rheims, and you shall be lieutenant 
of the Heavenly King who is the king of France.” 

Orleans had already been driven by famine to offers of 
surrender when Jeanne appeared in the French court. Charles 
had done nothing for its aid but shut himself up at Chinon 
and weep helplessly. The long series of English victories had 
in fact so demoralized the French soldiery that a mere de¬ 
tachment of archers under Sir John Fastolfe had repulsed an 
army, in what was called the “Battle of the Herrings,” and 


138 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


conducted the convoy of provisions, to which it owed its 
name, in triumph into the camp before Orleans. Only three 
thousand Englishmen remained there in the trenches after a 
new withdrawal of their Burgundian allies; but though the 
town swarmed with men-at-arms, not a single sally had been 
ventured upon during the six months’ siege. 

The success, however, of the handful of English besiegers 
depended wholly on the spell of terror which they had cast 
over France, and the appearance of Jeanne at once broke the 
spell. The girl was in her eighteenth year, tall, finely formed, 
with all the vigor and activity of her peasant rearing, able to 
stay from dawn to nightfall on horseback without meat or 
drink. As she mounted her charger, clad in white armor from 
head to foot, with the great white banner studded with fleur- 
de-lys waving over her head, she seemed “a thing wholly 
divine, whether to see or hear. ...” 

In the midst of her enthusiasm her good sense never left 
her. The people crowded round her as she rode along, praying 
her to work miracles, and bringing crosses and chaplets to be 
blessed by her touch. Touch them yourself,” she said to 
an old Dame Margaret; “your touch will be just as good as 
mine.” But her faith in her mission remained as firm as ever. 
“The Maid prays and requires you,” she wrote to Bedford, 
“ to work no more distraction in France, but to come in her 
company to rescue the Holy Sepulcher from the Turk.” “I 
bring you,” she told Dunois when he sallied out of Orleans 
to meet her, “ the best aid ever sent to any one — the aid of 
the King of Heaven.” 

The besiegers looked on overawed as she entered Orleans, 
and, riding round the walls, bade the people look fearlessly 
on the dreaded forts which surrounded them. Her enthusiasm 
drove the hesitating generals to engage the handful of be¬ 
siegers, and the enormous disproportion of forces at once 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


139 


made itself felt. Fort after fort was taken, till only the strong¬ 
est remained, and then a council of war resolved to adjourn 
the attack. ‘‘You have taken your counsel,^’ replied Jeanne, 
“and I take mine.’’ Placing herself at the head of the men-at- 
arms, she ordered the gates to be thrown open, and led them 
against the fort. Few as they were, the English fought des¬ 
perately, and the Maid, who had fallen wounded while en¬ 
deavoring to scale its walls, was borne into a vineyard, while 
Dunois sounded the retreat. “Wait awhile!” the girl im¬ 
periously pleaded; “eat and drink! So soon as my standard 
touches the wall you shall enter the fort.” It touched, and 
the assailants burst in. On the next day the siege was aban¬ 
doned, and the force which had conducted it withdrew in 
good order to the north. 

In the midst of her triumph Jeanne still remained the 
pure, tender-hearted peasant girl of the Vosges. Her first 
visit as she entered Orleans was to the great church, and there, 
as she knelt at mass, she wept in such a passion of devotion 
that “all the people wept with her.” Her tears burst forth 
afresh at her first sight of bloodshed and of the corpses strewn 
over the battlefield. She grew frightened at her first wound, 
and only threw off the touch of womanly fear when she heard 
the signal for retreat. 

But all thought of herself was lost in the thought of her 
mission. It was in vain that the French generals strove to 
remain on the Loire. Jeanne was resolute to complete her 
task, and, while the English remained panic-stricken around 
Paris, the army followed her from Gien through Troyes, grow¬ 
ing in number as it advanced, till it reached the gates of 
Rheims. With the coronation of Charles, the Maid felt her 
errand to be over. “O gentle king, the pleasure of God is 
done!” she cried, as she flung herself at the feet of Charles the 
Seventh and asked leave to go home. “Vv^ould it were His 


140 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


pleasure/’ she pleaded with the archbishop, as he forced her 
to remain, that I might go and keep sheep once more with 
my sisters and my brothers: they would be so glad to see me 
again.” 

The policy of the French court detained her while the cities 
of the north of France opened their gates to the newly con¬ 
secrated king. Bedford, however, who had been left without 
money or men, had now received reinforcements, and Charles, 
after a repulse before the walls of Paris, fell back behind the 
Loire; while the towns on the Oise submitted again to the 
Duke of Burgundy. In this later struggle Jeanne fought with 
her usual bravery, but with the fatal consciousness that her 
mission was at an end, and during the defense of Compi^gne 
she fell into the power of the Bastard of Vendome, to be sold 
by her captor into the hands of the Duke of Burgundy, and 
by the Duke into the hands of the English. To the English 
her triumphs were victories of sorcery, and, after a year’s im¬ 
prisonment, she was brought to trial on a charge of heresy 
before an ecclesiastical court with the Bishop of Beauvais 
at its head. 

Throughout the long process which followed, every art was 
employed to entangle her in her talk. But the simple shrewd¬ 
ness of the peasant girl foiled the efforts of her judges. “Do 
you believe,” they asked, “that you are in a state of grace?” 
“If I am not,” she replied, “ God will put me in it. If I am, 
God will keep me in it.” Her capture, they argued, showed 
that God had forsaken her. “ Since it has pleased God that I 
should be taken,” she answered meekly, “it is for the best.” 
“Will you submit,” they demanded at last, “to judgment of 
the Church Militant?” “I have come to the king of France,” 
Jeanne replied, “by commission from God and from the 
Church Triumphant above; to that Church I submit. I had 
far rather die,” she ended passionately, “ than renounce what 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


141 

I have done by my Lord’s command.” They deprived her of 
mass. Our Lord can make me hear it without your aid,” she 
said, weeping. '‘Do your voices,” asked the judges, “forbid 
you to submit to the Church and the Pope?” “Ah, no! Our 
Lord first served.” 

Sick, and deprived of all religious aid, it was no wonder 
that as the long trial dragged on and question followed ques¬ 
tion, Jeanne’s firmness wavered. On the charge of sorcery 
and diabolical possession she still appealed firmly to God. “I 
hold to my Judge,” she said, as her earthly judges gave sen¬ 
tence against her, “ to the King of Heaven and Earth. God 
has always been my Lord in all that I have done. The devil 
has never had power over me.” 

It was only with a view to be delivered from the military 
prison and transferred to the prisons of the Church that she 
consented to a formal abjuration of heresy. In the eyes of 
the Church her dress was a crime, and she abandoned it; but 
she was forced to resume it as a safeguard, and the return to it 
was treated as a relapse into heresy which doomed her to death. 

A great pile was raised in the market-place of Rouen, 
where her statue stands now. Even the brutal soldiers who 
snatched the hated “witch” from the hands of the clergy and 
hurried her to her doom, were hushed as she reached the 
stake. One, indeed, passed to her a rough cross he had made 
from a stick he held, and she clasped it to her bosom. “Oh, 
Rouen! Rouen!” she was heard to murmur, as her eyes 
ranged over the city from the lofty scaffold, “I have great 
fear lest you suffer for my death.” “Yes! my voices were of 
God!” she suddenly cried as the last moment came; “they 
have never deceived me!” Soon the flames reached her, the 
girl’s head sank on her breast, there was one great cry of 
“Jesus!” “We are lost,” an English soldier muttered as the 
crowd broke up; “we have burned a saint.” 

John Richard Green 


142 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


GOD SAVE THE KING 

Many histories have been written about the great national an¬ 
them of the English, God Save the King, but whether any of them 
are correct is uncertain. By whom the words and music were 
written has never been satisfactorily answered. 

The general belief is that the words were written by a poet and 
musician by the name of Herbert Carey, who was bom about 1685. 
The music is sometimes attributed to Handel. Its first appearance 
was in the Gentleman^s Magazine, in 1745. 

Its melody is simple but attractive. It has been used in the 
compositions of many composers. Denmark and Sweden have 
used it for their national songs. For many years it was the tune of 
the national song of Russia and in some way became the air of 
America. 

Its words are simple but powerful. 

“ It is always one of the living links which bind into one the past, 
the present, and future of the English race.’’ 

God save our gracious King! 

Long live our noble King! 

God save the King! 

Send him victorious. 

Happy and glorious. 

Long to reign over us, 

God save the King! 

O Lord, our God, arise. 

Scatter our enemies, 

And make them fall! 

Confound their politics. 

Frustrate their knavish tricks, 

On him our hopes we fix, 

God save us all! 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES i, 

Thy choicest gifts in store 
On him be pleased to pour, 

Long may he reign! 

May he defend our laws, 

And ever give us cause. 

To sing with heart and voice, 

God save the Edng! 

Herbert Carey 


ADDITIONAL STANZA 
{By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow) 
Lord, let war’s tempests cease. 
Fold the whole world in peace 
Under thy wings. 

Make all the nations one, 

All hearts beneath the sun. 
Till Thou shalt reign alone. 
Great King of Kings. 


HORATIO NELSON 

“England expects every Man will do his Duty.” 

The death of Nelson was felt in England as something more 
than a public calamity: men started at the intelligence, and 
turned pale; as if they had heard of the loss of a dear friend. 
An object of our admiration and affection, of our pride and of 
our hopes, was suddenly taken from us; and it seemed as if 
we had never, till then, known how deeply we loved and rev¬ 
erenced him. What the country had lost in its great naval 
hero — the greatest of our own and of all former times — was 
scarcely taken into the account of grief. So perfectly, indeed, 
had he performed his part, that the maritime war, after the 


144 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


battle of Trafalgar, was considered at an end: the fleets of the 
enemy were not merely defeated, but destroyed: new navies 
must be built, and a new race of seamen reared for them, 
before the possibility of their invading our shores could again 
be contemplated. It was not, therefore, from any selfish 
reflection upon the magnitude of our loss that we mourned 
for him; the general sorrow was of a higher character. The 
public monuments, and posthumous rewards, were all which 
they could now bestow upon him whom the king, the legis¬ 
lature, and the nation, would have alike delighted to honor; 
whom every tongue would have blessed; whose presence in 
every village through which he might have passed would 
have wakened the church bells, have given school-boys a 
holiday, have drawn children from their sports to gaze upon 
him, and ‘‘old men from the chimney corner,” to look upon 
Nelson ere they died. The victory of Trafalgar was cele¬ 
brated, indeed, with the usual forms of rejoicing, but they 
were without joy; for such already was the glory of the British 
navy, through Nelson’s surpassing genius, that it scarcely 
seemed to receive any addition from the most signal victory 
that ever was achieved upon the sea: and the destruction of 
this mighty fleet by which all the maritime schemes of France 
were totally frustrated, hardly appeared to add to our secur¬ 
ity or strength; for, while Nelson was living, to watch the 
combined squadrons of the enemy, we felt ourselves as secure 
as now, when they were no longer in existence. 

There was reason to suppose, from the appearances upon 
opening the body, that, in the course of nature, he might have 
attained, like his father, to a good old age. Yet he cannot be 
said to have fallen prematurely whose work was done; nor 
ought he be lamented, who died so full of honors, and at the 
height of human fame. The most triumphant death is that of 
the martyr; the most awful that of the martyred patriot; the 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


145 


most splendid that of the hero in the hour of victory; and if 
the chariot and the horses of fire had been vouchsafed for 
Nelson’s translation, he could scarcely have departed in a 
brighter blaze of glory. He has left us, not indeed his mantle 
of inspiration, but a name and an example, which are at this 
hour inspiring thousands of the youth of England, — a name 
which is our pride, and an example which will continue to be 
our pride, and an example which will continue to be our shield 
and our strength. Thus it is that the spirits of the great and 
the wise continue to live and to act after them. 

Robert Southey 

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE 

Florence Nightingale was born in the year 1820, in 
Florence, the beautiful Italian ^^City of Flowers,” and was 
named after it. The home of her parents, who were very 
wealthy, was in Derbyshire, and there the little child was 
afterwards taken, and there she grew up in the midst of 
beautiful surroundings. 

She loved the garden and the great park round her father’s 
house, tended the flowers, and made friends with all the ani¬ 
mals, who seemed to know that they could trust her. The 
shyest of them would come quite close to her. Even the 
squirrels would dart down the trees as she came along, their 
keen little eyes on the watch for the nuts that they knew she 
would drop for them as she passed. Peggy, the old pony in 
the paddock, would keep a sharp lookout for her little mis¬ 
tress, and would run to the gate to meet her, and thrust 
her nose into the little girl’s pocket for the apple or crust that 
was always to be found there. 

The clergyman of the parish was a great friend of the fam¬ 
ily, and he was particularly fond of the gentle, warm-hearted 


146 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


child. Often he would take her for a ride with him when he 
went to visit the poor cottagers at a distance, and these rides 
were great delights to Florence, who always carried with her, 
strapped to her saddle, a basket of little dainties for those 
who were ill. 

Once when they were out on one of these rides, they saw 
an old shepherd named Roger, whom they knew well, in great 
difficulties with his sheep, because he had no dog with him. 
They wondered at this, for they knew he had a splendid dog, 
named Cap, who always helped him with the sheep and kept 
them in order far better than his master could. They rode 
up to the old man and asked him what had become of the dog, 
and very sorrowfully he told them that some boys had thrown 
stones at him and had broken his leg. Poor Roger’s eyes 
ffiled with tears as he added that he would have to hang 
him when he got home that night. 

The child and her friend were very grieved at this news, 
and as they rode on the clergyman said: ‘‘We will go to see 
poor Cap. Perhaps the leg is not broken after all. It would 
take a big stone and a very hard blow to break such a great 
dog’s leg.” So they went to the cottage where the old shep¬ 
herd lived. He had no wife or children, but lived all alone 
with his dog, and as the two entered he barked angrily at 
them, but he could not move. 

Florence knelt down beside him and patted and stroked 
him, saying gently: “Poor Cap! Poor Cap!” till he was 
soothed and allowed the clergyman to examine the injured 
leg. “It’s only a bad bruise,” he said at last to the little girl’s 
great joy. “Can we do anything for him?” she asked; “he 
seems in such great pain.” When her friend advised bathing 
it with hot water, she at once lighted the fire and got hot 
water and flannels and bathed the swollen leg, until the poor 
animal showed signs of relief and wagged his tail and licked 
her hands in his gratitude. 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


147 

On their way home they met old Roger walking sadly along 
with a piece of rope in his hand. Florence hurried toward 
him and cried, ‘‘Oh, Roger, you are not to hang poor Cap!’* 
and she told him the good news. Two or three days after¬ 
wards they rode again in the same direction, and there on the 
hillside they saw Roger and Cap once more minding the 
sheep together. The dog bounded toward her at the sound of 
her voice, and she fondled him, while old Roger poured out 
his grateful thanks. 

When we think of this joy of the child in tending the suffer¬ 
ing animal, we can understand how, as she grew older, this 
natural sympathy was stirred by all who needed care and 
help. Not only did she give her loving service in her own 
home, but she comforted and ministered to the poor families 
of the district in their hours of pain, and often dressed the 
wounds of the poor fellows who were injured in the stone 
quarries close by. And as time went on, the desire possessed 
her, and became ever stronger and stronger, of becoming 
a nurse. 

There was no necessity for her, from a worldly point of 
view, to take up any work at all; her parents were rich and 
she would never be likely to need money. Life to most girls 
of her class was a round of idleness and gayety, but Florence 
must be doing something for others, and sympathy and ten¬ 
derness and courage led her to choose the nurse’s life. 

Her parents did not oppose her wishes, but wisely left her 
free to develop them as she thought fit: nevertheless, they 
were a little disappointed at her choice of a profession. In 
those days nursing was looked upon as quite unsuitable for a 
lady of refinement. It was taken up chiefly by those who 
could get no other work, and the hospitals, crowded with the 
sick, had to make the best of the old and ignorant and the 
foolish persons who offered themselves as nurses. 


148 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


Florence Nightingale had heard of the unsatisfactory con¬ 
dition of the hospitals in this respect, and she determined to 
be trained as a nurse and devote her life to tending tlie sick 
poor and doing all that she could to raise the standard of 
nursing generally. 

Accordingly, she visited the hospitals in London, Dublin, 
and Edinburgh, and studied the different methods in the 
chief institutions in France, Germany, Italy, and Egypt. 
She came back with the idea that England was far behind 
both France and Germany, and that the failure of English 
nursing was due to the lack of organized training. 

With the object of getting a thorough training for herself, 
she offered herself as a nurse in Pastor Fliedner’s Institution, 
near Diisseldorf, on the Rhine. She was then twenty-nine. 
From Diisseldorf she went to Paris, and then returned to 
London, where she spent two or three years as head of a 
home for sick governesses. 

Meanwhile, an event had occurred which was to alter the 
whole of her life. War had broken out. Turkey had declared 
war against Russia, and England and France had decided 
to help Turkey. The decision made a great stir in England. 
It was the year 1854: Queen Victoria had then been reigning 
for nearly twenty years, and those had been years of peace. 
There had, indeed, been no great war since 1815, when Eng¬ 
land had defeated France at the battle of Waterloo. 

The excitement and enthusiasm of the people was intense; 
great crowds lined the streets in London, Liverpool, and 
Southampton to cheer the soldiers who were leaving these 
ports for the East. The queen herself, aboard the Royal 
Yacht, sailed through the long line of warships, as they stood 
off the Isle of Wight, and bade the troops farewell. That was 
in the spring of the year 1854. It had not been expected that 
the war would last long, but the months went by, months 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


149 


darkened and saddened by the news of the many killed and 
wounded; then the summer came and brought with it, in the 
East, fevers and deadly diseases, which meant death in a few 
hours to the men whom they attacked, and the winter was 
as deadly with its terrible cold. 

All these hardships might have been borne if only reason¬ 
able provision had been made for the poor sufferers: but there 
was little accommodation for the wounded, and when they 
reached the hospitals and shelters that had been hastily ar¬ 
ranged for them, nurses, medicines, necessary instruments, and 
even proper food were all wanting. After the battle of the 
Ahna, the great numbers of sick, wounded, and dying were 
put on board a vessel, and taken to the hospital at Scutari, 
on the southern shore of the Black Sea. When they arrived 
there five days later some were dead, many had not even 
had their terrible wounds dressed, and none had received 
proper attention. 

So when, to the grief of the people at the loss of their fathers 
and husbands and brothers, was added the knowledge that 
th^ had died in agonies, uncared-for, and untended, and that 
those who remained were even then facing indescribable 
horrors, a cry of indignation went up from them, loud enough 
to force the country to take some steps to insure the safety and 
comfort of her gallant fighters. 

The Times newspaper appealed for money, and in less than 
a fortnight fifteen thousand pounds had been sent in. A little 
later a Patriotic Fund was started with the Prince Consort 
as its President, and this resulted in a sum of one million two 
hundred and fifty thousand pounds! Food and clothing and 
medicines were bought, but even these things became diffi¬ 
culties without people to carefully administer them. The 
greatest need of all — a staff of trained nurses — was still un¬ 
provided. Up to that time all the nursing in the military 



STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


150 

hospitals had been done by men, but they had little training 
or natural aptness for the work, and they could not be got in 
sufficient numbers. Letters appeared in the Times newspaper, 
telling all the horrors of the situation and appealing for help, 
and one voiced this most urgent need for nurses. “Are there 
no devoted women among us,” so began the letter, “able and 
willing to go forth to minister to the sick and suffering soldiers 
of the East in the hospital of Scutari? Are none of the daugh¬ 
ters of England, at this extreme hour of need, ready for such 
a work of mercy?” 

Florence Nightingale read this letter in her Derbyshire 
home. Its cry went to her heart; it seemed that it had been 
written just for her. Around her was the peace and beauty of 
the autumn woods: her life was one of quiet joy and rest; far 
away in the East were loathsome sights, uncleanliness, ugli¬ 
ness, the horrors of war, anxiety and responsibility. Any 
woman might well have hesitated at the sacrifice of the one 
for the other. But to Florence Nightingale the appeal in the 
letter was an awakening. She knew now the meaning of her 
gifts of tenderness and sympathy, the reason for the years of 
patient training. Here was her life-work. She sat down at 
once and quietly wrote to Mr. Sidney Herbert, the Secretary 
of State for War, offering herself as a nurse in the hospital 
at Scutari. 

And while her letter was on its way, one was on its way to 
her, actually from Mr. Sidney Herbert himself, appealing to 
her to organize and superintend the band of nurses for serv¬ 
ice in the Crimea. He spoke of her as the one person in Eng¬ 
land known to him capable of doing this, and he promised 
her the support and assistance of the Government if she 
would undertake the work. 

In less than a week she had interviewed numerous appli¬ 
cants, chosen from them thirty-eight helpers, and started with 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


iSi 

them for the East. To avoid any public display, which their 
leader disliked above all things, they set out at night, and no 
one knew of their departure till three days after they had gone. 
But when they reached Boulogne, on the northern coast of 
France, the news had already spread through the town that 
this little band of black-robed women were nurses going out 
to the war. Then the Boulogne fisher-women, in their pic¬ 
turesque dresses and spotless, fan-shaped caps, crowded round 
them, insisting on carrying all their luggage to the railway 
station, and indignantly refusing the payment that was of¬ 
fered them. Many of them had their men-folk fighting side 
by side with the English soldiers, and the tears streamed down 
their cheeks as their eyes rested on the brave women who were 
on their way to help them. This enthusiasm of the French 
people was delightful but very embarrassing: hotel-keepers 
and servants refused their fees, and when the nurses left it 
was amid the cheers and shouts of a vast crowd that had 
thronged the railway station. 

They arrived at Scutari, after fourteen days^ travel, in early 
November, and found the two hospitals there full of wounded 
and fever-stricken patients: even in the corridors a double row 
of mattresses had been laid as close together as possible, with 
just a narrow way between them, by which the different rooms 
could be reached. What a welcome sight to the poor suffering 
fellows must those gentle, sympathetic women have been! 
Not only disease and all the horrors of neglected gunshot 
wounds, but dirt, disorder, and mismanagement were every¬ 
where, and the resolute band worked night and day till some 
measure of order was obtained. The wounds of the sufferers 
were dressed, their loathsome rags removed, and they knew 
again the joy of clean, fresh clothing. At first some of them 
were shy of their women nurses, and to such Florence Night¬ 
ingale would say in a gentle voice, ‘‘Never be ashamed of 
your wounds, my friend.^^ 


152 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


The dying were soothed and passed away with words of 
blessing on their lips. Curses, which had once been common 
among them, were no longer heard; the presence of the 
ministering women softened the roughest hearts; many a 
man sobbed aloud at the first touch of their gentle hands, 
the first sound of their soft voices. It was as though angels 
had suddenly entered a world of darkness and horror, and 
had transformed it by the power of their own radiance and 
goodness. 

The great battle of Inkerman was fought on the very day 
that the nurses arrived, and before they had had time to 
attend to those already in hospital six hundred more wounded 
were brought in. More nurses were sent for, and in a short 
time fifty more arrived. A proper kitchen was now fitted up, 
and Httle delicacies supplied to the broken-down men. 
Hitherto the cooking had been done by soldiers, their favorite 
method being to tie up all they could get in the way of meat 
and vegetables in separate nets, and boil them all at the same 
time in a huge copper kettle. Some of the articles came out 
boiled to rags, others half-raw, not at all likely to tempt the 
appetites of the sick. 

Next a laundry was provided. No washing had been done 
before this except what the poor fellows had been able to 
manage for themselves, and the state of their bed-linen and 
clothing was indescribable. Every spare minute the nurses 
sewed pillows and bandages, doing everything they could to 
add to the comfort of the patients. 

Sometimes when fresh batches of wounded were brought in, 
the devoted nurses were on their feet night and day without 
any rest. It fell to Florence Nightingale, or rather she made 
it her duty as head of the staff, to overlook everything, direct 
everything, assist at the worst operations, and always she was 
to be found at the bedside of the dying. It was she who re- 



SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


153 


ceived their last messages to the loved ones at home; who took 
to her care their small savings; and those last anxieties re¬ 
lieved, it was she who led their thoughts away from earth, till 
on the poor drawn faces shone a radiant hope and peace, and 
they passed away blessing her. 

Every night when the doctors had retired, and silence and 
darkness settled upon the hospital wards, she went her rounds 
alone, carrying a little lamp which she shaded with her hand 
lest its light should disturb any who slept. The sleepless men 
watched for her coming, hoping to catch her eye and take a 
smile or a cheery word from her; the pain-racked felt her cool, 
soft hand upon their hot brows; and faced the long hours 
of night with stronger hearts for her whisper of comfort; 
many with tear-filled eyes turned to kiss her shadow as it 
passed. 

Another fifty nurses were dispatched later, and the hospitals 
were now in perfect working order and receiving the com¬ 
mendation of officers and doctors alike. Florence Nightin¬ 
gale’s thoughts turned often to the actual battlefield where 
so many poor wounded fellows needed immediate attention. 
She could not rest until she had done what she could for 
them, and accordingly she set out for Balaklava, the very 
center of the fighting. Eight nurses followed her; huts were 
built to receive the wounded, kitchens fitted up, and in a few 
weeks a wonderful change had come about. 

But her always delicate body was worn out with the con¬ 
stant strain, and fever seized her. She was carried to the hos¬ 
pital high up on the hills, and there for a fortnight she lay 
between life and death. A terrible anxiety fell upon the camp; 
prayers were said constantly for her recovery; she was visited 
by high ofiicials and by men from the ranks; humble offerings 
of wild flowers found their way to her and cheered her heart 
through her helplessness. 


154 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


To the great relief and joy of all, she slowly recovered. 
The doctors urged her to return at once to England, but she 
resolutely refused to leave her post, and as soon as she was 
able to travel went back to her work at Scutari. Four of her 
helpers had died of fever, and were resting beneath the 
cypress trees in the beautiful cemetery with thousands of 
their fellow countrymen. Florence Nightingale often went 
there, and as she walked among the nameless graves she 
longed to raise some worthy memorial to the brave dead. 
Thanks to her efforts, there stands now in the midst of the 
English portion of the cemetery a great monument in marble. 
On each of the four sides of the base is written in four different 
languages: — ^‘This monument was erected by Queen Vic¬ 
toria and her people.” 

Very soon after Florence Nightingale’s return to Scutari 
the war came to an end, to the intense joy of all, but not until 
the last patient had left the hospital did Florence Nightingale 
feel herself free to return to England. She had been away 
nearly two years, and during that time the English people had 
eagerly read all that could be written about her, much in the 
newspapers, but much more in private letters from soldiers 
who had experienced her goodness. The general feeling was 
one of enthusiastic admiration for her; every one was talking 
about her; the poor singers in the streets sang songs about 
her — songs poor, perhaps, in poetry, but rich in genuine 
feeling and gratitude. The Nation waited to give the heroine 
of the Crimea, as they called her, such a welcome home as 
should assure her of their thankful appreciation of her 
work. 

But it never occurred to Florence Nightingale that she had 
done anything heroic; she had simply done, with all her heart 
and strength, the work which had come to her hand, and she 
needed no thanks or public applause. Fearing that something 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


iSS 

of the kind might be attempted, she refused the offer of the 
English Government of a passage home in a man-of-war, and 
went on board a French vessel. Dressed quietly in black, 
and calling herself Miss Smith, she managed to remain un¬ 
known. When they reached the port, she crossed the country 
in the night, and, escaping the crowds, soon reached her 
Derbyshire home. 

But if she avoided the public welcome which was waiting 
for her, she could not keep the people from expressing their 
love and gratitude in other ways. The queen sent her, with 
a letter written by her own hand, a magnificent jeweled badge. 
In the center was a cross, round which ran the words in 
golden letters, ^‘Blessed are the merciful.” A national fund 
was also opened, and in a few months fifty thousand pounds 
had been raised, four thousand of which had been sent by 
soldiers. 

Florence Nightingale decided to use the money to found 
a training home for nurses, and it was hoped that she herself 
might be its first head. But she had always been delicate, 
and she never sufficiently recovered from the intense strain of 
those two years in the Crimea to take any active part in the 
world^s affairs. But all her thoughts and interests were still 
in the work, and she poured out the energy that remained to 
her in various pamphlets and essays and letters on the neces¬ 
sity for hospital reform and the training of nurses. Even when 
in later Life she was forced to spend the greater part of her 
time on her couch, she still wrote and planned and helped in 
every way those who had her schemes in hand. 

Her last years were years of suffering, patiently borne. 
Death ended them in the year 1910 when she had reached the 
great age of ninety. 

The Nightingale Home for nurses is the best memorial we 
can have of her. It is the last building in the block which 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


156 

we know as St. Thomas’s Hospital, in Westminster. In the en¬ 
trance hall is a full-length marble statue of a woman, tall and 
slim, and dressed in the plain dress of a Scutari nurse. In one 
hand she holds a lamp, the light from which she shades with 
the other hand. It is ‘‘The Lady with the Lamp,” the heroine 
of the Crimea, Florence Nightingale. From this Home trained 
nurses are ever going forth, all over the world, bearing their 
message of health and hope to the sick and despairing, with 
an example before them of noblest self-sacrifice and tenderest 
devotion. They have realized that Florence Nightingale’s 
work was good, not because she gave to it money and time 
— easy enough to give if one has them in abundance, as she 
had, but because she gave Herself. Don’t be anxious,” she 
once said to a young nurse, eager to excel in her profession, 
“ to see how much you can gain by your training, but how 
much you can give.” And that free-giving of herself and all 
her powers was the secret of Florence Nightingale’s truly 
heroic life. 

Alice S, Hof man. 


GARIBALDI’S WAR HYMN 

The Italian National Anthem 

Garibaldi, the Italian patriot, first came upon the scene dur¬ 
ing the revolution of 1848. For fourteen years past, he had been 
an exile in South America; and he returned to exile after only a 
few months in Italy, now going to New York where he became 
a candle-maker. Just before the outbreak of the American Civil 
War, Garibaldi again went home, where he became one of the 
most effective volunteer generals fighting for the unification of 
Italy, and its freedom from Austria. In all his undertakings. 
Garibaldi was picturesque. The red shirts worn by his followers 
are immortal in Italian history. As one of the “liberators” of 
his country the man himself will always be held in the greatest 
affection by all lovers of freedom. 


SONGS AND HEROES OF OUR ALLIES 


157 


Come, arm ye! Come, arm ye! 

From vineyards of olives, from grape-mantled towers, 
Where landscapes are laughing in mazes of flowers: 

From mountains, all Hghted by sapphire and amber, 

From cities of marble, from temples and marts. 

Arise, all ye valiants! your manhood proclaiming. 

Whilst thunders are meeting, and sabres are flaming. 

For honor, for glory, the bugles are sounding, 

To quicken your pulses and gladden your hearts. 

Chorus: — Then hurl our fierce foeman far from us forever. 
The day is dawning, the day is dawning 
Which shall be our own! 

Too long cruel tyrants have trampled us under. 

The chains they have forged us are riven asunder: 

The Scions of Italy rise in defiance. 

Her flag nobly flutters where breezes are kind: 

To landward and seaward, the Foe shall be broken. 

Where Heroes have gathered, where Martyrs have spoken. 
And Italy’s Throne shall be rooted in Freedom, 

Whilst Monarch and people are all of one mind: 

Chorus: — Then hurl our fierce foemen far from us forever. 
The day is dawning, the day is dawning 
Which shall be our own! 


Mercantini 


STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 


THE STORY OF EDITH CAVELL 

All know the story of Edith Cavell, but it can never be 
told too often. She was in Brussels at the time of the invasion. 
Speaking of the German soldiers she wrote on August 24: — 

^‘We were divided between pity for these poor fellows, far 
from their country and their people, suffering the weariness 
and fatigue of an arduous campaign, and hate of a cruel and 
vindictive foe bringing ruin and desolation on hundreds of 
happy homes and to a prosperous and peaceful land.” 

After her arrest the Military Prosecutor asked her why she 
had helped these soldiers to go to England. ‘Tf I had not 
done so they would have been shot,” she answered. ‘‘I thought 
I was only doing my duty in saving their lives. . . .” 

Brand Whitlock, the American Minister at Brussels, wrote 
this appeal after she was condemned: — 

“My dear Baron, — I am too ill to present my request to 
you in person, but I appeal to your generosity of heart to sup¬ 
port it and save this unfortunate woman from death. Have 
pity on her!” 

When she came to die she said: — 

“I have no fear nor shrinking. I have seen death so often 
that it is not strange or fearful to me. 

“ I thank God for this ten weeks^ quiet before the end. Life 
has always been hurried and full of difl&culty. This time of 
rest has been a great mercy. 

“They have all been very kind to me. But this I would 
say, standing as I do in view of God and eternity, I realize 


STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 


159 

that patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bit¬ 
terness to any one.” 

She then repeated the hymn ending: — 

Hold thou Thy cross before my closing eyes; 

Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies: 

Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee; 

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.” 

Mr. Beck writes of her last moments: — 

‘‘The German military chaplain was with her at the end 
and afterwards gave her Christian burial. He told me: ‘She 
was brave and bright to the last. She professed her Christian 
faith and that she was glad to die for her country. She died 
like a heroine.’ ” 

The dark secrecy of the execution gave rise to many false 
statements with respect to the nature of her end. As these 
exaggerated the horror of the deed and intensified the feeling 
of indignation against her executioners, they should be cor¬ 
rected. Some of these reputed details are too horrible for 
statement. 

The facts as narrated by the German prison chaplain, who 
seems to have been a very noble and humane man, are very 
simple. 

“Miss Cavell walked bravely to the place of her execu¬ 
tion, and simply inquired where she should stand. This was 
indicated and she was asked whether she preferred to be 
blindfolded, to which she replied, ‘No.’ She folded her arms 
and then simply said to the firing squad, ‘I am ready,’ and 
was then instantly killed.” 

What words could describe the feelings of that firing squad 
when they saw the body of this brave and noble woman lying 
lifeless at their feet? 

Thus died Edith Cavell, assuredly one of the noblest women 


i6o 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


in the history of the world. To her memory a statue is to be 
erected in Trafalgar Square, but no art could fashion a statue 
worthy of the nobility of her soul. 

One can say of her, as was said of William the Silent, who 
was also assassinated, that when she died ‘^the little children 
cried in the streets.” 

I close with these words of Maeterlinck^s on Edith 
Cavell: — 

‘‘She passed like a flash of light which for one moment 
illumined that vast and innumerable multitude, confirming 
our confidence and our admiration. She has added a final 
beauty to the great revelations of this war; for the war, which 
has taught us many things that will never fade from our 
memory, has above all revealed us to ourselves. . . . 

“There was a moment of anguish and silence; and lo, sud¬ 
denly, in the midst of this anguish and silence, the most 
splendid response, the most magnificent cry of resurrection, of 
righteousness, of heroism and sacrifice that the earth has ever 
heard since it began to roll along the paths of space and time! 
They were still there, the ideal forces! They were mounting 
upward, on every side, from the depths of all those swiftly- 
assembling souls, not merely intact, but more than ever 
radiant, more than ever pure, more numerous and mightier 
than ever! To the amazement of all of us, who possessed 
them without knowing it, they had increased in strength and 
stature while apparently neglected and forgotten.” 

S. S. McClure 

MERCIFUL DOGS OF WAR 

When war breaks loose we have to revise our ways and our 
doings. Values change concerning dogs as of other things. 
An Airedale terrier is not wanted for his blanket of black and 


STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 


i6i 


the shape of it; the Airedale is wanted for his trained ability 
to find wounded soldiers and to come back and lead help to 
them. His black back is not cared for at all; the Red Cross 
and Army Medical Corps prefer to have dogs gray, for the 
same reason that this is the best color for uniforms. In the 
eyes of the show-dog man or woman the Army Medical and 
Red Cross authorities are wretchedly reactionary; they are 
not interested in a single prize-winning feature. 

According to one report, at the outbreak of the war there 
were eight trained dogs in the German army and in an¬ 
other it is stated that there were many. Now we are as¬ 
sured that there are many, but we have no census; we know 
only of one high command for the training of twenty-five 
hundred additional dogs and another reference to forty-five 
hundred of them. Those in the French army and Red Cross 
are expressed by the same figure of speech — ^^many ” — and 
those in the British army are indicated by “some.” On both 
sides on all the fronts there may be, at a guess, ten thousand 
Red Cross dogs. This refers only to those that are trained, 
that have undergone careful education and have, as it were, 
taken their degrees. Untrained dogs are not wanted at the 
front, any more than untrained civilians. They are useless. 

The best physical type seems to be a medium-sized animal, 
strong, preferably of grayish color or black, and the beast 
must have good eyesight and character. How large a part 
scent plays in the work is not known. We do not know any¬ 
thing about smell, anyway. In that respect dogs know far 
more than we do. 

The breeds vary. A cross between a bulldog and a mastiff 
is said to be desirable, so are German sheep dogs, retrievers, 
pointers, large Airedale terriers, the kind known as police 
dogs, as well as out-and-out curs. It is character and training 
that is wanted; nobody has time in days of war to worry 


i 62 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


about ancestry. Character is the hardest thing to breed, and 
the aristocrat with a shifty eye goes into the discard. In time 
of need democracy asserts itself. Size, weight, and health may 
be determined. Then comes training — and there character 
shows. 

These Army or Red Cross or Sanitary dogs as the Germans 
call them, are first trained to distinguish between the uniform 
of their country and that of enemies. Then the dog must learn 
the importance of a wounded man, as being his principal busi¬ 
ness in life. News of the wounded must also be brought to his 
master. He must not bark, because the enemy always shoots. 
There are various ways in which the dog tells his master of 
his discovery. One method is, if no wounded have been dis¬ 
covered, to trot back and lie down, whereas, if he has found 
a wounded man he urges the master to follow. United States 
Consul Talbot J. Albert of Brunswick, tells of a method in use 
in the German army, in which the dogs have buckled to their 
collars a short strap, and they are trained, when they find a 
wounded man in hunting over the battlefield at night, to grasp 
the straps in their mouths and so return, thus signifying that 
there is a man in uniform alive out there. Then they lead the 
way back to him. This invention was necessary to overcome 
an evil that became evident among dogs taught to retrieve; 
that is, to bring back some piece of clothing belonging to the 
wounded man, his cap, glove, or something from the neighbor¬ 
hood, such as a piece of cord, a stone, or a bunch of grass. 
The trouble with the method was that the dogs, in their abun¬ 
dant zeal, never returned without something from the in¬ 
jured man, and usually they took that which first struck their 
eyes. This was most often a bandage, which the dog would tear 
off. If taught to bring back a cap and the soldier had none, the 
dog would very likely seize him by the hair. 

Orders are orders, you know. But those trained to bring 


STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 163 

something from the neighborhood would fail to do so where the 
snow was deep. 

Dogs are never trained to scent out the dead. Their busi¬ 
ness is to assist the wounded. Each one carries a first-aid 
package strapped about its back or neck and knows that when 
a wounded man is found he may take the package. 

They are trained to carry letters from post to post and they 
learn to distinguish the various posts by name. They are also 
of aid to soldiers on the watch. A French officer tells of one 
night while on watch as a private in one of the front trenches, 
when every dog became suddenly uneasy, continually growling 
and very excited. This was enough for the soldiers; they knew 
their army dogs and believed in them, so they telephoned to 
the main entrenchments for support. Fully twenty-five min¬ 
utes after the reinforcements arrived, a German attack was 
made from the trenches opposite which was turned back be¬ 
cause of the superior numbers that answered the telephone 
call. The distance of the German trenches opposite those of 
the French is not given, but that does not stand in the way 
of a very interesting question: By what sense did these dogs 
know of the approaching attack? Did they hear the enemy 
making ready or do we excrete under excitement, through the 
sweat glands, certain distinctive chemical bodies that indicate 
to the trained olfactory sense of the dog either fear or passion? 

A French dog named Prusco, nearly white, that looks like 
a wolf, has a remarkable record. It is said that after one 
battle, alone, he saved the lives of more than one hundred 
men by seeking out those concealed by brush or depressions 
or who were too weak to make their location known. If it 
had not been for Prusco they would have been left to die on 
the field. At another time a French regiment, advancing 
against the Germans, received a set-back and was forced to 
retreat; leaving many wounded. A hail of bullets was flying 


164 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


over them. Three Frenchmen, shot in the legs, were slowly- 
dragging themselves toward a depression to avoid the fire of 
rifles and machine guns. They had thrown off everything that 
hindered them but they made very slow progress. Prusco saw 
them and bounded to the side of one who caught him by the 
collar and was quickly dragged to shelter. Then he returned 
and brought along the other two in the same way. This ac¬ 
complished, he waited until the wounded men had supplied 
themselves with first aid from the kit on his back and then 
hastened off to render other aid where it was needed. Prusco 
has been honorably mentioned in the dispatches. 

In the campaign on the Eastern Front Lieutenant von 
Wieland led a party of men in an attack on the Russian 
trenches. Seeing the task hopeless on account of the Russian 
fire, the officer signaled a retreat. Turning with the soldiers 
that were left he made for the trenches and safety. When he 
had covered less than half the distance a rifle ball shattered 
the bone of his leg and down he fell amidst the still bodies of 
the men who had set out with him and lay there in the blood 
and muck and filth of the battlefield. The Russian fire was 
so murderous that no one dared bring him in. Presently a 
dark form bounded from the German trenches, rushed to 
Lieutenant von Wieland’s side, grasped his coat between his 
teeth and, foot by foot, dragged him to safety. Once, but only 
for a moment, did he loosen his hold, and that was when a 
bullet ‘‘creased’’ him from shoulder to flank. The blood 
gushed from the wound but the dog took a fresh hold and 
finished his job at the edge of the trench where willing hands 
lifted the lieutenant down to safety. They had to lift the dog 
down, too, because just then a bullet broke both his fore-legs. 

It was the lieutenant’s dog Steif that, when his master’s 
hour had struck, gnawed through his leash and rushed to him. 
There are evidences that Steif is partly of great Dane breed,^ 


STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 165 

partly mastiff and partly hound, but the rest of him is pure 
dog miscellany. 

Man and dog were both taken to the hospital and the sur¬ 
geons worked as hard over the one as they did over the 
other. Then one day, when His Majesty made his rounds, 
they brought Steif in on a cot and placed him beside the 
lieutenant. The emperor had heard the story and as he came 
along he took from the supply that he carried with him, 
an iron cross, which he pinned upon von Wieland’s bosom. 
Then, taking another iron cross, he tied it to the collar of 
the dog. 

In the Belgian army dogs have largely displaced horses for 
rushing machine guns from one location to another, according 
to a correspondent of the Boston Post. Officers claim that 
under fire they are more dependable than horses and may be 
relied upon to keep the gun out of the hands of the enemy 
even though the entire escort be killed. And they can be 
kept in trenches safe from hostile bullets, which is impossible 
with larger animals. 

In Russia dogs have been used to carry ammunition to the 
firing lines and by the quickness of their work, which was 
formerly done by crouching and creeping men, have kept the 
soldiers well supplied from the ammunition wagons which 
are always likely to be far in the rear of advancing files. 

There are canine sentries on duty on both sides in the 
Great War, and dogs that are dispatch-bearers. Marquis, a 
French dog, fell dead from a bullet wound almost at the feet 
of a group of French soldiers to whom he bore a message across 
a shell-raked stretch of country. But the message was de¬ 
livered! And there is Stop, of the Fifteenth Army Corps, the 
savior of many wounded, and Flora, of the Twelfth Alpine 
Chasseurs, merciful dogs of war with reputations for distin¬ 
guished service. There are many Stops and Floras actively 


i66 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


engaged in humanitarian service, and it is quite unfair for 
me to single out individual animals — a conference of dogs of 
war would doubtless so decide — except as a means of giving 
typical stories of what are everyday exhibitions of intelligence, 
devotion, and self-sacrifice on the part of dogs of numerous 
breeds in the vast zone of battle. 

The people in the warring countries are called on for many 
and varied contributions. The French War Department has 
on record a communication from the father of a family which 
poignantly illustrates this, for he wrote: already have 

three sons and a son-in-law with the colors; now I give up 
my dog, and vive la France!’^ 

Other stories of the heroism of dogs are likely to come to us 
when the war is over, and from them we may gain more wis¬ 
dom about dogs. We are likely to become informed — but 
whether we learn it or not rests with us — that a chance for 
education and training is important for a dog if it is to lead 
a useful life, and that in the economy of a better order of 
things there is a great deal of work for dogs to do. 

There was a crotchety old man who said to a lover of dogs: 
*‘I never could understand why you do not visit an asylum 
and make merry and dance about with idiots. You can get the 
same type of mind there that you find in dogs, and then you 
could come away and not be bothered with dog-fights and 
muzzles and the destruction of your property.^’ 

‘‘Yes,” the dog-lover replied, “but they do not seem to suc¬ 
ceed in training idiots to any useful purpose, while they do 
succeed with dogs. There’s the shepherd’s dog that is still 
worth while, the husky of the Arctic sled train, the dog in har¬ 
ness of the Netherlands, the boy’s dog that helps him to go 
fishing, and of course there is the watch dog. Now the 
watch dog is conservative by nature and he holds fast, 
among other things, to the theory of the sanctity of property. 


STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 


167 

He is a disturber of the burglary business, but that also 
goes with the general principles of conservatism. The dog is a 
useful animal.’’ 

In dealing with dogs we should be philosophical and remem¬ 
ber that misplacement is a cause of disorder; that dogs as well 
as men, women, and even boots and shoes, are most useful in 
those places where they can do most good. Unfortunately we 
do not employ much philosophy in our dealings with dogs. We 
use them for our left-over emotions. I know an excellent 
woman who ruins every dog she owns by sheer spoiling; by 
letting it have its own way without restraint. And I know a 
man, a good citizen, who strives to deal justly with his kind, 
but who is disposed to kick dogs if they bother him. Both 
take out their emotions on dogs. This does not give the dog 
a fair chance. 

However, we do not have to go killing people to make dogs 
worth while. 

Ellwood Hendrick 
HIS GREATER TASK 

They were packed closely together, a sea of olive drab, 
topped by a row of happy faces. Jests and bits of laughter rose 
here and there, and every now and then one of the soldiers 
would glance around expectantly as if seeking somebody. It 
was evident they awaited some one. Suddenly there was a 
movement at the door — a burst of music from three lusty 
Highlanders and in came a short, rather stocky figure. At 
once it became evident that the suspense was over — for 
Harry Lauder had come to cheer the soldiers. 

Instantly the intervening years dropped away and I found 
myself back some eight years ago, in a seat in a theater, where 
the galleries rocked with noisy merriment at the antics of a 


i68 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


little man on the stage. Voices called across the pit, A Wee 
Deoch an’ Doris, Harry,” or “The Saftest o’ the Family,” in 
friendly supplication; to all of which requests the comedian 
assented with a readiness that seemed to show the happiness 
he felt at making others happy. 

And now to-day — yes, it was the same Harry Lauder — 
but one felt somehow that there was something — a vague 
indefinable something — changed in him. He sang the old 
songs with just as much the same quaintness as before and 
his jokes were even more amusing, but underlying it all and 
in his eyes there seemed something bigger and more serious. 
And then I noticed the black band which he wore around his 
left arm and I realized. 

For Harry Lauder has paid the supreme penalty. He has 
given his only son that the cause of Liberty might live. Cap¬ 
tain John Lauder, of the Argyle and Sutherland Highland¬ 
ers, died on the field of battle leading a charge of his troops and 
to-day a little plot of ground “ somewhere in France ” contains 
all that the little comedian held most dear in life. 

They tell of the first visit Lauder made to the grave of his 
son, after he had recovered from the shock of hearing of his 
death. In company with a staff officer, he went to the little 
cemetery and located the grave. 

“The father,” says the officer, “leaned over the grave to 
read what was written there. He knelt down, indeed he lay 
upon the grave and clutched it the while his body shook with 
the grief he felt. 

“When the storm had spent itself he rose and prayed: ^0 
God, that I could have but one request. It would be that I 
might embrace my laddie just this once and thank him for 
what he has done for his country and humanity.’ 

“That was all, not a word of bitterness or complaint.” 

But Lauder has not let his feelings overcome him. “I must 


STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 


169 

be brave/’ he says, boy is watching and all the other 
boys are waiting.” And so he has a new mission. All over 
England and France he has been traveling constantly where- 
ever there are soldier boys—‘^his boys”—gathered to¬ 
gether, singing and cheering them and telling them of the 
great task they have undertaken. And more recently, in the 
United States, he placed himself at the service of the War 
Council of the Y.M.C.A. and spoke constantly to the soldiers 
in the concentration camps. And when he has finished his 
songs and jokes he never fails to tell of the great work that 
lies before the soldiers; something like this: — 

‘^One even in the gloaming in a Northern town, I was sit¬ 
ting by my window when I saw an old man with a pole on his 
shoulder come along. He was a lamplighter, and made the 
lamp opposite my window dance into brightness. Interested 
in his work, I watched him pass along until the gloaming 
gathered round and I could see him no more. However, I 
knew just where he was, for other lamps flashed into flame. 
Having completed his task, he disappeared into a side street. 
Those lights burned on through the night, making it bright 
and safe for those who should come behind him. An avenue 
of lights through the traffic and dangers of the city. 

‘‘Boys, think of that man who lit the lamp, for you are his 
successors only in a much nobler and grander way. You are 
not lighting for a few hours the darkness of passing night. 
You are lighting an avenue of lights that will make it safe for 
the generations of all time. Therefore you must be earnest to 
do the right. Fight well and hard against your enemy without 
and within, so that those of your blood who come after you 
will look up proudly in that light of freedom and say, ‘The 
sire that went before me lit a lamp in those heroic days when 
the world warred for right.’ The first burst of illumination 
that the world had was the lamp lit by Jesus, or rather He 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


170 

was the Light Himself. He said truly, ‘1 am the Light of the 
world.’ You are in his succession. Be careful how you bear 
yourselves. Quit ye like men! Be strong!” 


And so the little Scotchman ever wends his way with a new 
purpose and a greater mission. 

While on his tour of the United States, where he visited the 
various training camps, Mr. Lauder sent the following mes¬ 
sage through the Red Cross Magazine: — 

To the People of the United States: — 

Having been to the front, I speak with some authority 
on the grand and glorious work of the Red Cross. Let the 
people of the United States remember the soldier boys’ friend 
on the field of battle. The Red Cross is his first aid; he is there 
at all times through the day and through the night. I might 
say that the men and women of the Red Cross are playing 
an unforgettable service. Let us not do what we can but let us 
do our best for the Red Cross and if we do our best, we will 
surely have no regrets. 

(Signed) Harry Lauder 

THE AMERICAN SPIRIT 

One day last spring a business errand brought me to 
Washington. The beautiful capital city seemed to wear an 
air of unwonted festivity. Gay bunting and festoons of flags 
were everywhere. And holding a prominent position side by 
side with the Stars and Stripes was a banner — an unfamiliar 
banner to me — which carried crossed blue bars on a red 
field. Then it flashed over me. Washington was holding a 
reunion of the Confederate Veterans! Every other person had 
gray hair, topping a gray uniform, but mingled with this 



STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 


171 

symphony of gray was a new note. Every now and then a 
stalwart figure dressed in khaki strode by, the upright, erect 
carriage and elastic step a strange contrast to the bent car¬ 
riage and feeble step of the veterans, who fifty years ago 
heard the call and answered, giving their all for the cause 
they believed in. And it seemed to me, as I watched the old 
men and young men together, that the younger generation 
had absorbed the splendid spirit of the older men and that 
the former, too, were not afraid to lay down their lives for 
their country and for the cause for which their country was 
at war — the cause of liberty and true democracy. 

And when I sought my hotel, I found the long corridor 
filled with these same men in gray — some straight and jaunty 
and quick as youth itself, but mostly bent and feeble, helped 
by canes or crutches, or leaning on the arm of a daughter or 
granddaughter. And several were supported by husky grand¬ 
sons wearing the khaki of the new and greater army of the 
United States. 

And the old men made a picture that filled the eye and held 
the heart. Their cameo-like faces stood out clear and fine. 
Not one of them but seemed to say in every feature: ‘‘I am a 
man of character. I have lived clean and gallantly. Greed 
and materialism have passed me by” — oh, they were fine 
American faces, all of them! Not that they looked angelic 
by any means — I would be willing to vouch that more than 
one of the lot can be peppery and cantankerous and obstinate 
at times, but I can also vouch that not one of them was mean 
or base or self-seeking. Here and there one heard scraps of 
talk: ‘'At that time, suh, I was under the command of Gen¬ 
eral Braxton Bragg,” and “there’ll be a great hand-shakin’ 
’mongst the boys to-day,” and once, when two veterans stood 
near me and two pretty Southern girls stopped to speak to 
them, one said, after the girls had passed on: “I hope I shall 


172 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


never be too old, suh, to enjoy looking at a pretty girl/^ God 
bless him — I hope not, too! 

One gay youngster of nearly eighty waved a beseeching 
cane at the leader of the orchestra: ^‘You, suh, up theah, will 
you kindly play for me ‘The Girl I Left Behind Me’?^^ And 
every last one of them leaped to his feet and let out the rebel 
yell when the orchestra swung into “Dixie!” 

Not many of these fine old men looked overly successful 
from a worldly point of view. Some were obviously poor — 
their poor old cheap shoes showed that — and they must have 
pinched and saved all year to come to the reunion and enjoy 
the warm comradeship of it, and the good talk of old days. 
But none were poor in spirit and none were poor in integrity 
or honor or pride. They are the salt of the earth, those old 
young fellows — a national asset. 

One might say that they fought against America instead of 
for her, and that they were “rebels” and should not now be 
allowed to bring their gray uniforms and their “bonnie blue 
flag” into the Nation’s capital. But it must be remembered 
that these men fought for what they believed right as honestly 
as our boys are fighting in France to-day; that they came 
back into the Union only to feel for years the grind of poverty 
and the bitter injustices of reconstruction, and in spite of it 
all they have won our admiration through their devotion to 
the flag and the nation — undoubted, magnificent. This is the 
real glory of the conquered. 

The Civil War ended over fifty years ago. Many of the 
grandsons of these veterans in gray are now in khaki. Fifty 
years from to-day they may be in the nation’s capital to cele¬ 
brate their battles in France and Flanders, cheering their 
officers, saluting their flag. They will carry on the torch of 
gallantry and courage that their grandfathers have be¬ 
queathed them. This is the true American spirit. 

Sophie Kerr 


STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 


173 


^^A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM’’ 

A Story of Saving for Victory 

When James Curtis got out of the car at his door, after 
a short day’s work at the shipbuilding plant, little Marjorie 
was watching for him and came running up. 

‘‘Daddy,” she greeted him, “I want to earn some money 
to give to the Government. I want to help win the war. 
Teacher says if we save money we can help, and can save lives 
too. Tell me, daddy, what can I do to earn the money?” 

“Did the teacher put all that into your head, Mar¬ 
jorie?” 

“Yes; some Secretary sent a paper to her. He wants us all 
to help like the boys and girls did in the Revolution. We 
can’t load guns and fight like they did, but he says we can help 
just the same. I’ve got the paper in the house for you to read 
to me again. It tells of some ways that boys and girls can 
earn money, but most of them are for boys and I don’t know 
anything I can do since we got Mary to do all the work. I wish 
we did not have Mary; then I could help mother.” 

“Well, Marjorie, I will read the paper after dinner and 
then we will see about it. You run and play now.” 

At the table that night, Marjorie told again about her big 
purpose to help win the war. Her mother’s statement that 
a little girl like her could not do much only increased her 
enthusiasm. 

“But, mother, think, if every little girl and boy in the 
United States earns money and gives it to the Government, 
that would help a whole lot.” 

“Well, Marjorie, that’s a long speech for you. I guess your 
father will give you some money to help the Government. 
How about the money we give you for candy and the money 
in your bank upstairs?” 


174 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


‘‘I had thought of that. I was going to buy Christmas 
presents for you and Daddy, and Gra’ma and Uncle Fred with 
the money in my bank. Uncle Fred is fighting for us and I 
think I ought to send him some tobacco he likes so much and 
says it costs so much more in France, and then he cannot get 
the kind he likes. And Gra’ma is so old that I think I ought to 
send her something as I have every year; but you and Daddy 
I know will understand and not feel bad if I give the rest to 
the Government. I am going to give my spending money, too. 
But I want to earn some more each week so that I can buy 
stamps and fill up a Thrift Card and soon start putting the 
big stamps on a War-Savings Certificate. The teacher said 
maybe our fathers and mothers would start buying the big 
stamps to put on War-Savings Certificates of their own. I 
think you ought to do it; but I want to buy my own stamps 
with my own money so that I will be doing, all by myself, my 
share to help the Government.” 

‘‘You can do that, daughter, if you want to so much; and 
no doubt if you can do it, your mother and I can help the 
Government too. Let’s all go and read that paper now.” 

So Jim Curtis read aloud the appeal which Secretary 
McAdoo had issued to “Young America,” calling upon them 
to help their Government in its time of need, as the boys and 
girls of ’76 had helped in the Revolution. The lesson, the 
Secretary said, is “thrift-saving to the point of sacrifice— 
self-denial of everything unnecessary.” 

When Marjorie’s father pointed out to her that the money 
she was going to save was not to be given to the Government, 
but only loaned — that the Government would buy back 
from her in January, 1923, the War-Saving Stamps which she 
would get now in exchange for sixteen 25 cent Thrift Stamps 
and a few cents more, and pay her $5.00 then for each one of 
them—she was a bit disappointed. But her father, on whom 


STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 


175 


had suddenly dawned the real meaning of this war-saving 
campaign, because he knew the difficulty they had in getting 
labor and materials in the shipyards, explained to her that it 
was not just money the Government needed to buy food and 
clothing and guns for the soldiers, but first it had to find food 
and cloth that it could buy, and steel for the guns and for the 
ships which were needed to carry the food and clothing and 
guns to France. Then it had to find men to make the uniforms, 
manufacture the guns, and build the ships. He told her that 
when she ate candy, she used up sugar that might otherwise 
be sent to Uncle Fred in France; that when she bought a new 
coat instead of wearing out her old one she was taking cloth 
that might be used for the soldiers; that she was asking 
people to work for her, making candy and coats, who might be 
working for the Government by helping to build ships like 
her father was. 

Don’t you see, Marjorie,” said her father, “ by saving your 
money to send to the Government you are also saving the 
things that the Government wants to buy. That is what the 
Government really wants you to do. It is willing to give 
you back your money, five years from now, and pay you in¬ 
terest because you have saved for it some of the food and 
cloth and other things which it needs so much at present, and 
because you do not ask people to do unnecessary work for you 
when the Government needs the work of all the people it can 
get. You really give the Government much more than the 
money you save, don’t you see?” 

Mr. and Mrs. James Curtis then faced each other with a 
new consciousness — a new viewpoint regarding their duty 
in connection with the war. Their method of living since he 
got his present position at the ship-building plant at much 
higher pay gave them little more satisfaction to think about. 
They had certainly had a good time. They both realized now, 


176 


STORIES OF PATRIOTISM 


however, that they could no longer go on that way, not as long 
as the war lasted at least. They did not realize that this was 
the beginning of a sane and wholesome life for them and that 
they were hereafter to be better and broader people and better 
citizens. 

They turned their attention to deciding ways for Marjorie 
to earn her quarters. The printed list supplied them with 
one—she could clean the silver twice a month. Then mother 
remembered that she always had to make her own bed when 
she was a girl. They would pay Marjorie twenty-five cents 
a week for doing that and keeping her room in order and clean. 
Her father agreed to give her a regular ‘‘spending allowance’’ 
of twenty-five cents a week besides. She might also earn 
something helping to take care of neighbors’ babies after 
school and on Saturdays. 

Then Mrs. Curtis went to the kitchen to tell Mary of the 
help she was to have. She found Mary knitting socks. She did 
not have to explain about the Government war-savings plan; 
Mary seemed to know all about it. 

“Yes, Mrs. Curtis, I read the papers and I have been wait¬ 
ing for the Government to put these stamps on sale. I wanted 
to buy a Liberty Bond, but you know I have to help my sister 
with her three children, and a dollar a week is a good bit for 
me. I am glad Marjorie wants to help her Goverirnent. You 
can tell her all the time she saves me I will spend knitting for 
the soldiers.” 

“But why did you want to buy Liberty Bonds, Mary?” 

“Well, you see, Mrs. Curtis, when the war started I had 
$1800 in a savings bank in Poland. When the Germans came 
they broke open the bank and took all the money. The bank 
cannot pay me. Now if I buy Liberty Bonds or put my money 
in these new War-Savings Stamps, then everybody in the 
United States will owe it to me, and if the Germans come 


STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR 


177 


here and steal the money from the banks I will get my money 
back just the same.’’ 

The introduction of thrift into the front of the Curtis house 
dated from that night. Marjorie’s enthusiasm spread to the 
others, and she often pointed the way for her mother and 
father. They were surprised to find that last year’s clothes 
would do for another season. Hats could easily be re trimmed 
at home. The dark corners of the attic brought forth many 
things that had been forgotten. They found they did not care 
for the trips to the city for supper and the theater, not when 
they had to measure them in War-Savings Stamps. Jim 
walked two miles to and from his work and saved the price of 
two Thrift Stamps each day. They all got up earlier anyway, 
so that Marjorie could have time to make her bed before school. 
Marjorie learned to knit and she soon had a pair of wristlets 
for Uncle Fred. Her father sent them with a letter to his 
brother. In due time the reply came back: '‘I am glad you 
see this thing right. God bless Marjorie.” 

And so contentment came to the Curtises. 

John K. Barnes 











‘ u . 




INDEX 


“A Little Child Shall Lead Them”. John K. Barnes... 

America. Samuel F. Smith ... 

American Spirit, The. Sophie Kerr ... 


173 

132 

170 


Battle of Bunker Hill, The. Marie L. Herdman ... 

Battle Hymn of the Republic, The. Julia Ward Howe... 

Benjamin Franklin as a Boy. Franklin's Autobiography... 

Betsy’s Battle Flag. Minna Irving... 


35 

109 

19 

67 


Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean. Thomas d Becket. ... 92 

Commodore Dewey, the Hero of Manila. Katharine I. Bemis. ... 125 


Daniel Boone, the Kentucky Pioneer. Norma H. Doming... 

Dixie. Daniel Decatur Emmet... 


69 

115 


First Encounter with the Indians, The. Jane G. Austin _ i 

First Thanksgiving Day, The. Bradford's Plymouth Plantation _ 10 

Florence Nightingale. Alice S. Hoffman.... 145 


i Garibaldi’s War Hymn. Mercantini... 

1 George Washington, the Young Soldier.. .Eva March Tappan... 
I God Save the King. Herbert Carey... 


156 

23 

142 


Hail, Columbia... 
His Greater Task, 
Horatio Nelson.. 


Joseph Hopkinson. 
.... .Fraser Nairn. 
_ Robert Southey. 


Independence Bell, The 
Joan of Arc. 


. Anonymous. 

.John Richard Green. 


71 

167 

143 

44 

135 


Lafayette. 

La Marseillaise. 

Lewis and Clark, the Pathfinders 

Lincoln, the Young Man. 

Little Athens’ Message. 

Little Drummer, The. 

Little Giffen. 


.Gertrude V. Southworth... 

. Rouget de Lisle... 

. . . .Eva March Tappan... 
.Rupert Sargent Holland... 
.. .Anna Doan Stephens... 
Richard Henry Stoddard... 
. Francis 0 . Ticknor... 


62 

134 

72 

94 

122 

117 

121 






























i8o 


INDEX 


Man Without a Country, The.... 

. Augusta Stevenson. .. 

. 75 

Martyr Patriot, The. 

. Edward S. Ellis... 

. 46 

Merciful Dogs of War. 

. Ellwood Hendrick... 

. 160 

Molly Pitcher. 


. 61 

Noblest Southerner, The J. G. de R, dr M. L. Hamilton {adapted )... 

. no 

Race for Liberty, A. 

. George D. Varney... 

. 28 

Rodney’s Ride. 


• 40 

Signing the Declaration. 

. George Lip pard... 

42 

Soldier’s Reprieve, The. 

... .Mrs. R. D. C. Robbins... 

. 104 

Story of Edith Cavell, The. 


. 158 

Story of Our Flag, The. 


. 6s 

Star-Spangled Banner, The. 

. Francis Scott Key... 

. 128 

Truth Speaker, The. 

. Sarah Crompton... 

• 53 

Verses on Lafayette. 

. Dolly Madison... 

• 6s 

Winter at Valley Forge, A. 


• 57 

Yankee Doodle. 


• 32 

















STEP FORWARD IN READING" 


THE RIVERSIDE READERS 


EDITED BY 

JAMES H. VAN SICKLE 


Superintendent of Schools, Springfield, Mass. 


AND 


WILHELMINA SEEGMILLER 


Late Director of Art, Indianapolis. Formerly Principal of the Wealthy Avenue 
Public School, Grand Rapids, Mich. 


ASSISTED BY 

FRANCES JENKINS 

Instructor in Elementary Education, College for Teachers, University of Cincinnati 
Formerly Supervisor of Elementary Grades, Decatur, III. 

ILLUSTRATED BY 

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MAGINEL WRIGHT ENRIGHT E. BOYD SMITH 
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These Readers contain an unusually large amount of fresh copyrighted material 
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LATEST TEACHING METHODS 

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ARTISTIC MAKE-UP 

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illustrations of the primary books are particularly attractive. 

MECHANICAL FEATURES 

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arrangement of the type page were all determined by careful experimenting, in 
order to safeguard the eyesight of children. 

Send for complete illustrated circular describing the unique plan of this series. 

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Eighth Reader, 60 cents net 


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IN DRAMATIC FORM 

BOOK ONE — For First and Second Grades* 40 cents. Postpaid. 
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By AUGUSTA STEVENSON 

Formerly a Teacher in the Indianapolis Public Schools 

These books accomplish three important functions : — first, 
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The use of these books will greatly improve the oral 
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SUPPLEMENTARY READERS 

GRADE I 

Priiner of Nursery Rhymes. By Leota Swem and Rowena 
Sherwood. ^ ^0.40 

The Hiawatha Primer. By Florence Holbrook. .48 

The Dutch Twins Primer. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. .44 

GRADE II 

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The Doers. By William John Hopkins. School Edition. .60 

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Kittens and Cats. By Eulalie Osgood Grover. Sch. Ed. .60 
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GRADE III 

The Book of Fables and Folk Stories. By Horace E. 
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The Dutch Twins. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. School Edition. .*60 
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Little-Folk Lyrics. By Frank Dempster Sherman. School 
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The Japanese Twins. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. Sch. Ed. .60 
Selected Stories from the Arabian Nights. Edited by 
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Poetry for Children. Edited by Samuel Eliot. 1.00 

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Old Ballads in Prose. By Eva March Tappan. School Edition. .60 
A Book of Fairy-Tale Bears. Edited by Clifton Johnson. 

School Edition. .50 

Little Bird Blue. By W. L. and Irene Finley. School Edition. .50 

GRADE V 

The Irish Twins. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. School Edition. .60 
The Mexican Twins. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. Sch. Ed. .60 
The Little Book of the Flag. By Eva March Tappan. 

School Edition. .44 

The Basket Woman. By Mary Austin. School Edition. .76 

The Book of Saints and Friendly Beasts. By Abbie Far- 
well Brown. School Edition. .60 

In the Days of Giants. By Abbie Farwell Brown. School 
Edition. .52 

Ballads and Lyrics. Edited by Henry Cabot Lodge. i.oo 

Sinopah, the Indian Boy. By James W. Schultz. Sch. Ed. .60 

Little Bird Blue. By W. L. and Irene Finley. School Edition. .50 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

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TIMELY READERS 
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Compiled by Norma H. Deming and Katherine I. Bemis. A series 
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A collection of speeches and papers upon democracy and patriotism 
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AMERICAN IDEALS {For the High School). Price $1.25. 

Edited by Norman Foerster and W. W. Pierson, Jr. A series of 
essays and addresses by leading statesmen and men of letters setting 
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A. Lawrence Lowell. 

A TREASURY OF WAR POETRY {For the High School). 
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A comprehensive anthology of poems of the Great War, including 
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HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

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